Picking Up the Pieces
by comicbooklovergreen
Summary: AU after the final half of 'Today is the Day.' All it took to bring them together again was the death of his wife, the loss of her son, and a redheaded child who belonged to neither of them. Sarah/Charley, post 'Born to Run.' Not a Jameron fic. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **As some of you may be aware, I miss Charley. Seriously. I avoided writing this for months, but I still missed Charley, so eventually I threw up my hands and gave in to the muse. Hopefully this will be relatively short, but again, the muse does what she does.

In my reality, 'To the Lighthouse' never happened. Everything else did. Just assume the Connors found out about Savannah some other way that didn't involve the body at the lighthouse. How did they find her? I don't know. It's not really pertinent to the story, and I'm not a good enough writer to figure it out right now, so use your imaginations. Also, use that little review button to drop some feedback as you leave. Feedback makes me all kinds of happy.

**Disclaimer: **They aren't mine. We'd still have a show if they were, and you wouldn't be stuck reading this instead.

* * *

><p>One of the things Sarah always loved about Charley he knew how to curb his curiosity. It wasn't that he'd never questioned her during their brief period of happiness. Of course he'd asked about her past, about the scars that littered her body. He'd asked, and she'd answered without truly answering, and somehow that had been enough. Somehow, Charley cared enough, trusted enough, to take her non-answers on faith and assume she was being truthful about the rest.<p>

Eight years later, he'd burst back into Sarah's new home, her new life. The life built after she abandoned him without explanation. Charley burst in and went straight to work on Derek, not bothering to ask why there was a dying man in his dead fiancé's kitchen. Of course, that hadn't lasted. Charley pressed and pressed hard about all the lies, about Sarah's lack of trust. About the faith he'd shown her that hadn't been reciprocated. Charley grilled her about all these things, but he had the decency to wait, to save the questions for a better time. Sarah guessed it was a skill that came with his job. Go in, fix the problem, shelve the rest until crisis had been averted. It was a skill he practiced every day, it wasn't like Charley was giving her special treatment. Still, she loved him for his ability to wait, for his ability not to question.

Sarah was incredibly grateful to learn that some things didn't change. They weren't engaged anymore and Charley's wife was dead, and he probably hated Sarah now, but apparently some things didn't change. Because when she showed up at the lighthouse, Charley didn't press for answers.

His expression upon seeing her was something Sarah wouldn't forget. There was shock. And relief. And bitterness. She'd only seen him once since Michelle's death. She'd met him here, given him the dog, showed him the alarm, then showed him where the guns were hidden. One visit, a long while ago, but Sarah remembered the bitter resentment well enough. She hated what she'd done to him, hated the look in eyes that used to be kind and loving.

Following the initial shock at having her walk into his house as though it were an everyday occurrence, Charley started in with the questions. They were halting, disjointed as he battled the relief, the anger, all of it. He'd seen the footage of her arrest, heard about the breakout. Sarah didn't bother responding to that. Of course he'd seen, everyone in Los Angeles had probably seen. It was old news now. Even the riot at the jail, her escape, all of that was already on the backburner. Charley had his TV on as they stood across from each other in his living room. Sarah watched images of the destruction at Zeira Corp. It hurt to do that, to be reminded again of all she'd lost in that basement, but she'd take any excuse not to look Charley in the eye.

Charley opened his mouth to speak. Sarah knew already what would come. Where were her usual accomplices in insanity? Cameron, Derek. Where was John? Before he could ask, James Ellison walked through the door, carrying a tearful redheaded child in his arms. The two men locked eyes over Sarah's shoulder. The little girl tightened her grip and hid her face upon seeing another stranger. Charley looked at his ex-fiancé again. Sarah's face was blank, a mask of stone so different from what he'd seen in Nebraska. He couldn't read her expression, but her eyes were pleading with him. Charley shelved his need for answers, gesturing for the bizarrely matched trio to come further inside.

* * *

><p>Sarah's reappearance jolted him enough that Charley didn't recognize the girl immediately. It took him an extra half-second to recognize Savannah Weaver, Sarah's alleged kidnap victim. He wanted to ask, but waited. The dog approached and provided instant distraction as Savannah wriggled free of Ellison's hold and approached Charley's most basic form of protection. She hugged and petted the dog, and the animal reciprocated by licking the salty moisture from her face. Charley got the two of them set up in a corner, Savannah addressing him for the first time as he moved back towards Sarah and Ellison.<p>

"Mommy won't let me have pets," she said quietly. "She's gone now, she's not coming back," the child added. This started a fresh round of tears. The dog whined in apparent sympathy, gently licking her face again. Charley looked back at the other adults, waiting for someone to say something comforting. Ellison opened his mouth, but Sarah beat him to it.

"We don't know that, Savannah."

Charley's frown grew impossibly deeper. It was clear that she'd gone for maternal reassurance, but her words sounded forced, clipped. Again, Charley fought the urge to question why Ellison was here and no one else.

"But she's not here. Why isn't she here?"

This time, it was Ellison who spoke. He said something about mommy being away, about looking after Savannah. This earned a sharp look from Sarah, but no comment. The comments came a short while later. The girl had suffered a trying couple of days, and it eventually caught up with her. As she started to doze, Ellison lifted her again. Sarah jerked her chin towards the guest room and he nodded, heading off in that direction. The dog followed, seemingly intent on keeping watch over the youngster.

"What the hell's going on here?" Charley asked. He was angry and it showed, and it irritated. him that the concern showed as well. "I tried calling John, after I saw-"

"We got new numbers," she replied curtly.

The anger increased as the concern dissipated. She always talked to him like that, like he was just another complication that she wished to be rid of. He'd loved her, was sure she loved him. Then she left and blew up a bank and ever since then, he'd been just a complication. "You don't do that. Not this time, Sarah. You told me to stay away, I finally took the hint."

Sarah Connor, the unshakable mother of the future nearly flinched. The tone wasn't even that bad. Derek had said worse things in a harsher voice, more times than she could count. Derek was not Charley.

Charley wasn't even yelling, his voice was barely raised. This was only for Savannah's benefit, and Sarah knew that, and it hurt. It shouldn't hurt, not when compared with everything else, with John's departure. Charley hating her shouldn't matter. She'd _almost_ hoped for it, the hate. Hate would make forgetting easier.

"I finally got it," Charley continued, oblivious to Sarah's inner turmoil. "And now here you are again. You don't come here after a jailbreak, with a kidnapped child, and act like I have no right to ask."

"She's not kidnapped," Sarah argued. "Her mother told Ellison to pick her up, he picked her up."

Charley had to step closer just to hear her response. Sarah's voice was unusually quiet. Not soft, there wasn't any tenderness to it. It was just…quiet. And distant. "Her mother. The mother who's gone."

"Her mother is dead, her real mother. Replaced by one of the machines."

"Replaced…? Sarah, that's…"

"Crazy?" she offered, a humorless smirk curving her lips. "Yeah, it is." And yet he wondered why she hadn't told him the truth. Briefly, she explained that some terminators were better than others, capable of more tricks.

"You knew about her mother. That's why you took her."

"We didn't know about the mother, not when we took her the first time."

"Then why…?" Charley shook his head. He couldn't do this. Sarah Connor had drained him of most everything, including the energy needed to pry out meaningful responses. However, the reference to a 'we' had reminded him of yet another question. Eventually, she'd have to answer at least one. "Where are the others? Where's the…robot girl?"

That got him another joyless turn of her lips. "Cyborg girl. Cybernetic organism. She's outside, in the trunk."

It would be awhile before he and Ellison hauled the metal _out _of the trunk. For now, Charley assumed Sarah's reply to be a sad excuse for a joke. "Derek?"

The look of deliberate blankness cracked, just for a moment. "Derek's gone. We went to grab the kid and Derek didn't make it."

That brought Charley up short. He wasn't sure how to react. From the looks of it, Sarah wasn't sure how to react either. "How…how's John? How's he taking it?"

Sarah couldn't stand it. The worry, the concern. From the only one alive who cared for John half as much as she did. Sarah turned away from Charley, putting her back to him while she tried not to shake. She wished Ellison would come back. If Ellison came back, she could look at him and be angry, and she'd have a reason to keep it together. If it was just Charley…Derek had been right. Cameron had been right. Sarah was weak where Charley was concerned and if Charley, just Charley, kept prodding her about John, there would be a lot more weakness. Weakness she couldn't afford, now or ever.

"Sarah?" Charley asked. The fact that she'd turned away, backed down, made him very apprehensive. "Sarah. Where's John?"

Sarah couldn't speak. If she spoke the words, it would make them true. Her throat tightened painfully.

"John's gone."

Sarah whirled. Ellison had returned. His words were gentle enough, but they pierced her worse than a knife. The T-1000 slicing through her arm had been nothing compared to this. John. Gone. Eyes flying to Charley, Sarah realized too late what Ellison had done. He said John was gone. She'd told Charley that Derek was gone. Had she been standing closer, Sarah very likely would've strangled the former FBI agent.

If she'd ever doubted Charley's love for John, she couldn't anymore. Charley was ashen. During the millisecond it took Sarah to turn around, every bit of color had drained from his face. Sarah had forced herself to avoid looking at him as much as possible during Michelle's kidnapping. But she'd still seen his face as his wife lay dying in his arms. The expression he wore now was not entirely dissimilar.

"John's alive," Sarah stated forcefully, glaring at Ellison over Charley's shoulder. "John's alive." Saying it again might guarantee that it was true. Maybe if she said that John was here, that would be true too. He'd walk in and she'd hug him, and so would Charley, and it would all be okay.

The explanations finally came. Sarah talked, Ellison put in a word here and there. The sound of his deep baritone grated on her nerves. Charley was mostly silent. No doubt he could see how stretched she was. He probably knew she was looking for any excuse to stop telling him what she was telling him.

"You," he began after she'd finished. "You let him go? You just let him…" It wasn't what Charley meant to say, but now it was there, hanging between them.

The shock, the incredulity, had Sarah looking him in the eye for the first time in awhile. Shock and incredulity she could take. Through the protective numbness that seemed to have overtaken her, Sarah kept wondering what she'd been thinking, berating herself for screwing up so badly. But the accusations made within her own head were nothing compared to the accusation she heard in Charley's voice, never mind that he already looked repentant.

"Yeah," Sarah replied, voice a strange mixture of hollowness and anger. "Yeah, I just let him go." Green eyes flashed dangerously at the insinuation that it'd been easy. Charley hated her now. He thought it had been easy for her to leave, and then to trash his life.

"Sarah…" Charley stepped closer. He'd wanted nothing to do with her for the longest time, but now he wanted to touch, to comfort. Like he had on the few times that he'd caught her staring off into the distance, a pained look on her face. He'd asked and she'd brushed it off, and eventually he'd stopped asking. But he'd still wanted to make her feel better. He wanted that now, even knowing that there was nothing he could do or say. A smaller part of himself railed against this thought, against the idea that he still cared.

Sarah backed up and waved him off. And then, out of nowhere, she answered another question, telling him the real reason she'd come back into a life that she'd ruined. She told Charley what she needed from him, what _Savannah _needed from him.

* * *

><p>Ellison was livid. Clearly Sarah hadn't made him privy to this plan of action. The ex-cop trod carefully before, very aware of the precariousness of his situation with Sarah Connor, as well as Sarah's mental state after the events at Zeira Corp. Hearing her plans for the redhead made caution an impossibility.<p>

Charley did his best to process it all while Sarah and Ellison went back and forth, their voices getting progressively louder. Ellison wanted the girl with him. Sarah didn't trust him. He'd done nothing to earn it. What gave Sarah the right to make this decision? What gave Ellison the right to do the same? On and on it went, and Charley observed everything with a mild sense of detachment. He thought that Sarah was in a state of shock. He thought that he was, too.

As they argued about whether or not Charley would take responsibility for the child, both seemed to forget that Charley was still in the room. He didn't remind them, didn't know what would come out if he forced his mouth open. So Charley remained a passive observer while Sarah and Ellison discussed Savannah's fate, along with his own.

It was Savannah herself who eventually broke things up. Despite her exhaustion, sleep had not been restful. She rejoined the adults, rubbing her eyes and whimpering about bad dreams. Ellison went towards her but Sarah beat him to it, glaring over her shoulder so the child wouldn't see.

Dropping to one knee so she'd be at Savannah's level, Sarah smiled softly, brushing tears off of small cheeks. "Nightmares aren't any fun, are they? I know."

"What's wrong, why was everyone yelling?"

"We weren't yelling," Sarah refused, pushing strands of red behind the girl's ear. "Savannah, remember we talked about my friend Charley?"

Savannah nodded, looking past Sarah to the man in question. Charley smiled automatically, aching for the tearful little girl.

"Charley's a very nice man," Sarah continued. "He's one of the best people I've ever known."

Her back to him, Charley couldn't see her face as she said this. But he did hear a crack in Sarah's voice as she finished the sentence. It was faint, nearly impossible to catch, but it was there.

"He's a good man, and he's going to take very good care of you."

* * *

><p>Charley resented her beyond words for that one. Because once Savannah looked at him again with a question in her eyes, what was he supposed to say? After Sarah's little declaration, what the hell was he supposed to say? There was no choice after that, not even the illusion of one. Ellison wanted to think otherwise. He shepherded the kid back into Charley's guestroom, cracked the door, then he rejoined them and the argument continued. Charley let it go, waiting for Ellison to accept the inevitable. Neither of them had a say in this, Charley understood that. Understanding didn't do much for the anger.<p>

Before dragging Ellison away, Sarah talked with Charley just outside the back door. She wanted things brief, kept glancing at Ellison, still visible within. She was relatively certain that he wouldn't make a grab for Savannah. But at one point, she'd been relatively certain that fate had been averted, that she and John could live a good life with a good person.

"So this is how it works. Stay away from me, unless it's a real emergency."

"Are you saying that you didn't _want _me away?"

Matching sarcasm. Truth be told, this little discussion was a formality. Sarah said he was a good man. Soft-hearted, sap. That's what she really meant. She'd known damn well that just looking at the kid would do it, would remove Charley's options. "What do you want from me, Sarah?"

"Protect her."

"Why not Ellison? He seems willing enough." This was pointless. Charley already knew what would happen, what some part of him _wanted _to happen. Fighting it was pointless, but Charley wanted to say that he'd at least tried.

"Ellison doesn't know what he's doing. He's seen a lot, but he still doesn't understand what he's up against."

"And I do," Charley stated, thinking of Michelle.

Sarah nodded minutely, even though there'd been no real question. She averted her eyes for half a second. "You do. I'm sorry."

"Sorry. For what happened in there? For Michelle? What are you sorry for?" He hadn't realized how angry he still was, not until this moment.

"All of it. I'm sorry for all of it, but I don't have a choice here. Neither does Savannah."

"Savannah has you, right? You're the expert."

Sarah did her best to ignore his tone. "Ellison can't take care of her, I can't either."

"You took care of John."

She scoffed at that, without humor. "John's gone, like Ellison said. John spent the better part of the last year hating me." It was an exaggeration and she knew that, but just now it felt like a very minor exaggeration. "I guess you know something about that."

Charley released a deep, weary sigh. He opened his mouth to say something. That John was incapable of hating her, that _he _was incapable of hating her, Charley wasn't sure which. Sarah forestalled anything that might've left his mouth.

"I can't do both. I can't stop Judgment Day and take care of her at the same time." It was a tough admission, but an honest one. She'd tried with John, really tried, and 25 years later, here they all were. "I can't trust Ellison, I can't do it by myself, and Savannah can't be left alone." A beat of silence. When she spoke again, her voice was much quieter. "You shouldn't be alone either."

"So this is what? My wife's dead, and you make up for it by giving me a dog and a kid?" Charley couldn't believe that he still wished to wound her. That with John gone, he _still _wished to wound her. Maybe it was _because _of John's absence. Charley's worry for the boy was clouding his judgment. Numbing him to the fact that Sarah was halfway to breaking already, that further pushing would not be good.

Sarah wanted to snap. Wanted to remind Charley that she'd done her best, that she'd _tried _to keep him safe. The defense would've sounded flat, to both of them. "I have no one left to ask," she told him, another moment of raw honesty. "I have no one left to trust. I need this from you."

The argument had been a formality. Sarah's words put an end to the charade.

* * *

><p>Ellison was not pleased with the arrangement, but finally came to understand that he had to get over it. This was Sarah Connor's show, inherited from Kyle Reese. Ellison let her call the shots, allowed himself to be ordered around, and contented himself with occasional phone calls to Savannah. The revelation that his boss had been a terminator made it clear once and for all that he really knew nothing of what he was dealing with. Grudgingly, he let Savannah go and deferred to the person who'd spent most of her life in this hell.<p>

Savannah was understandably hesitant. Mr. Ellison was all that remained of her old life, and she didn't want to be separated from him. But Sarah was right; Charley _was_ a nice man, even though he seemed sad a lot of the time. He was nice and he reminded her of Daddy in some ways.

Charley was amazed at how quickly he fell in love with the girl. He'd always wanted kids, always assumed there'd be plenty of time later. That was before he discovered how precious the time really was. Savannah needed him, gave him something to focus on besides his own grief and resentment. She seemed mildly surprised by every kind gesture on his part, like she'd forgotten what kindness from an adult felt like. He mentioned this to Sarah early on, and her eyebrows went towards her hairline.

"She was being raised by a terminator for who-knows-how-long. Are you surprised that she's starved for affection?"

The words were not flippant, but they grated on him. He hurt deeply for her, but Sarah's presence still grated on him. And she _was _present. For someone with no interest in raising Savannah, the brunette sure spent enough time with her. She kept showing up to teach the girl things, things that Charley wasn't qualified to educate her on. He and Sarah spoke as little as possible during these visits, sparking uncomfortable questions from the child. If you and Sarah are friends, how come you never talk to each other? That one came every time Sarah left. Once, the child reversed the names and asked Sarah the same question. As usual, she didn't get an answer, but after the look on Sarah's face, Savannah vowed not to ask again.

Charley hated her being there, but then he didn't. He hated what seeing her did to him. It wasn't just Michelle anymore. Now, irrationally, he blamed her for John, just a little bit. But the fact that she cared for Savannah, enough to do more than dump her in Charley's lap…

Savannah didn't know what to make of Sarah's visits. Sometimes…often…the woman was gruff and short with her. She talked only when necessary, only when confirming that Savannah understood something very important. Sometimes, Sarah reminded the girl of Mommy, the way she was after Daddy died. But sometimes Sarah would be like Uncle Charley. She'd talk in a sweet, reassuring voice, and only then would Savannah remember that John was Sarah's son, that Sarah was a mommy as well.

Charley was well aware of Sarah's tendency to run hot and cold toward the child, and it infuriated him. However, he couldn't think what to do for it, and he couldn't tell Sarah to stay away. Ellison would've liked that, but Ellison was still naïve enough to think that Savannah could disappear into a normal life, a normal childhood. Charley knew better, knew that Sarah's knowledge could very well be the thing that kept Savannah alive. He knew, but he remained pissed as hell at her for confusing the child.

It took three weeks for things to come to a head. Sarah was in the living room with Savannah, a set of blocks between them as they sat on the floor. She was trying to teach. The girl was behind, so far behind John at her age, and Sarah was doing her best to close the gap. She hated herself for comparing them, hated that she had any reason to. Savannah was difficult for her. She couldn't see the girl without seeing John, seeing past mistakes. She was constantly torn between a need to pull the child towards her and a need to avoid emotional attachment. Everyone who mattered was gone. Even Charley was lost to her, in all the ways that mattered. She couldn't lose another child to this life, but she couldn't seem to stay away from that child either.

In the living room, on the floor, Sarah was trying to remember that Savannah was not John. She couldn't speak to Savannah like she'd spoken to John at that age. But Savannah wasn't paying attention, and keeping her eyes up was one of the basics. Savannah had her head down, her eyes staring listlessly at the pile of blocks. Patience gone, Sarah demanded, none too gently, to know what the problem was.

Without thinking, Savannah gave the honest answer. That Sarah reminded her of her mother. When she was like this, curt and angry as if being with Savannah was a chore, the girl was reminded forcefully of her mother.

Savannah didn't use that many words, but Sarah got the point. She felt like she'd been punched in the gut. It didn't help to look up and realize that Charley had materialized out of nowhere. He looked incredibly torn up, but Sarah didn't trick herself into thinking that any of the sadness was for her. She counted herself lucky not to see pure hatred in his eyes. Blinded by too many emotions, she stood up and left, ignoring Charley's call of her name and Savannah's apology. The apology sounded genuine, and Sarah knew that she didn't deserve it.

* * *

><p>She returned several days later, after five or six messages from Charley had gone unanswered. He didn't even sound angry when he called, and somehow that made it worse. Sarah went through the usual ritual of entering without permission, keying in the alarm code, and letting the dog sniff her. Savannah seemed to like keying in the alarm code, almost as much as she liked the dog. Sarah remembered suddenly that John used to like hitting the call button on elevators. Ignoring the sting that came with the thought of her son, she forced herself to meet Charley's gaze as he came to greet her.<p>

"Hey."

"Hi."

"I'm glad you're here."

Sarah didn't try suppressing her noise of disbelief.

"I was worried," he insisted. "When I didn't hear from you…" Charley didn't know what she and Ellison were up to. He had an idea of where the cuts and bruises came from, but didn't ask for specifics. She'd asked him to look out for Savannah, and he forced himself to worry exclusively about that.

"I'm okay." It was a lie, but Sarah was grateful to Charley for letting it go. She'd been spinning out since John left. She'd hurt herself too many times in those few weeks. She didn't have John or Derek or even Cameron to bug her about taking stupid risks. Charley saw a few of the cuts, but he didn't ask. Usually, Sarah liked that he didn't ask questions. Now though…

"What did you name him?" Sarah asked suddenly, nodding towards the Labrador trotting off in the other direction.

Charley blinked repeatedly, thinking that he must look foolish. "What?"

"The dog, what did you name him? All this time, I never asked." She didn't know why that had changed, except that there were too many silences between them, and she couldn't stand another just now.

"Buddy," Charley replied, a bemused smile curving his lips.

Sarah laughed without meaning to. It felt strange to laugh after such a long time. "Buddy," she repeated.

"Buddy's my buddy, you got a problem with that?" It felt good to see her smile, too good for Charley to think much on what he was doing, on all that he was forgetting.

"No problem, just not the most creative choice, that's all."

"Too ordinary for you?" he teased. "Well maybe I like ordinary. Maybe ordinary is good for some people."

Sarah's smile vanished instantly. "Yeah," she agreed. "I would've loved ordinary too. I know you don't believe that-"

"No," Charley refuted, cutting her short. "I do. I know." And he did. He forgot sometimes, made her think that he didn't get it. With everything between them, Charley sometimes made her think that he didn't understand about her not choosing this life. Sometimes the anger took over and he let her think that way.

The silence she'd tried to fill took over. Sarah solved the problem by following Buddy into Savannah's room, ignoring Charley's voice behind her. When she reached the doorway and got a look inside, Sarah stopped dead.

"Don't say anything," Charley warned lightly. "I would've had it covered if you hadn't shown up and distracted me."

"What did you do?" she asked rhetorically, making her way to Savannah's bed.

"Uncle Charley's not good at braids," Savannah said hesitantly. Her last encounter with Sarah hadn't gone well, but the woman was smiling, so Savannah did the same.

"I would've figured it out," Charley defended himself. Still, he couldn't help wincing at the tangled mess that used to be Savannah's hair.

Shaking her head, Sarah wondered how someone with hands that'd routinely saved people's lives could mangle such a simple operation. She understood now why Savannah's hair was always down or in a ponytail. Grabbing the brush from the edge of the bed, Sarah approached the girl cautiously.

"Want to see if we can't undo some of the damage?"

After a moment's thought, Savannah nodded. Sarah saw the hint of nervousness in her eyes but ignored it, positioning herself behind the child. There was a mirror in front of them that allowed her to see Charley in the doorway. She locked gazes with his reflection for the briefest of moments before he disappeared, saying something about lunch. He might've smiled at her before leaving, but Sarah doubted it.

For long minutes, she combed gently through Savannah's hair, alternating between the brush and her fingers. Watching Savannah's face in the mirror, Sarah saw her expression relax, felt her body start to do the same. Taking a chance, she dropped the brush, pulling lightly until Savannah was situated in her lap.

"I'm sorry," Sarah murmured, punctuating her words with a gentle hug. "I've been mean to you and I'm sorry. I just, I miss my son, the way you miss your mommy."

"I know," Savannah replied, leaning into the embrace. "Uncle Charley told me how sad you were. He told me that sad people can say mean things."

Sarah held in a derisive chuckle. She and Charley both knew something about that. "Well, I'm still sorry. I've been sad and scared, and I took it out on you, and that wasn't right."

Sarah kissed the top of her head and Savannah completely forgot all of the sudden mood changes. Sarah was reminding her of Mommy again, in a good way this time. "Are you scared about John?"

Of course she was. She was scared for the child in her arms, for Charley, for the world at large. "Yes."

"I'm sorry he's not here."

"I'm sorry your mommy isn't here."

Savannah paused before answering. "I don't miss her, the one who left. I miss my real mommy."

Sarah forced herself not to grimace and began rocking the child in her arms. According to Charley, the girl had said things like that several times. Weaver might've pulled the wool over Ellison's eyes, but it seemed that Savannah was a different story. Kid might've been talking in the abstract, but Sarah didn't buy that at this point, not with the look on Savannah's face.

"I know, I know you miss her," said Sarah, her voice low and comforting.

Savannah tried stopping the tears, knowing it was too late. Sarah was watching through the mirror, and Savannah's body was trembling. The trembling got worse as she remembered how Mommy reacted the one time Savannah cried in front of her.

Sarah didn't say a word. With John, a long time ago, she might've said something about the pointlessness of crying. Savannah wasn't John, and Sarah knew damn well that she hadn't been the best mother. Even with the circumstances thrown at her, she could've done better.

Sarah didn't tell Savannah not to cry. Instead, she adjusted her hold until the girl's face was buried against her shoulder. Sarah kept rocking as Savannah's tears wet her neck.

"She's really not coming back is she? My old mommy."

The words were choked with a despair no kid should have to deal with. Sarah held the girl tighter, drawing circles on her back. Charley returned and sat with her on Savannah's other side. Sarah looked at him hard, trying to make him understand that she hadn't caused this. Charley smiled sadly and Sarah realized that he already understood.

* * *

><p>There were no lessons that night, no talk of machines or survival. Savannah cried herself out in Sarah's arms and Sarah passed her over to Charley, and then she left. She didn't go far. Charley found her in the garage a short time later, after he had the dog situated by Savannah's bedside and the alarm code keyed in.<p>

It was dark outside, dark and cool. A sharp contrast to the red heat emanating from the garage. During one of her unannounced visits, Sarah had built a crematorium in there, a giant pit like what he'd seen at her old place. Unwillingly, he recalled seeing the metal girl standing over the remains of one of her counterparts, the way the light from the thermite danced across her face. Now that light was playing against Sarah's features, and the effect was not flattering. She looked older, more exhausted, more weary than he'd ever seen. Her cheekbones stood out more prominently than he'd realized, and Charley wondered how much she'd been eating.

He couldn't take the image, couldn't stand looking at the results of John's absence. Charley cut his eyes to the right, to the corner where the cyborg lay. She was full of holes that hadn't healed, but the flesh covering her skeleton hadn't rotted at all. Sarah had muttered something about nanites in Cameron's bloodstream. She'd sounded detached when she said it, and Charley knew she was quoting something John had explained to her. For weeks, the machine lay dormant in this garage, except for when Sarah used the thing as a teaching aid. She'd been showing Savannah how the machines worked, showing her the reality they would soon be facing. Then Sarah decided that the girl had learned all she could from the cyborg. Sarah kept saying that they needed to destroy it, but when Charley offered to do the job, she always refused. She kept coming back here, but she kept avoiding the task. Now there was a bath of thermite ready to go, and Sarah barely looked up as he approached.

"She needed that pretty badly. I've been waiting for it to hit, for her to realize…"

"Yeah well, I don't think Weaver was much for talking out feelings and doling out tissues. Sometimes it happens that way, takes awhile to sink in."

"Sometimes," Charley agreed, studying Sarah out of the corner of his eye. The closest she'd come to losing it about John was that first night. After that, she was tough as nails and wouldn't let the subject come up. Maybe Charley should've pushed harder. The heat in the garage had caused Sarah to shed her jacket. Her arms were visible now, and so were the bruises. She spoke again before he could comment.

"We need to burn her," Sarah stated tonelessly, quite aware that this wasn't news to him. She forced herself to meet his eyes. "I need your help. Heavier than she looks."

Charley knew that. He and Ellison were out of breath and perspiring by the time they got the machine corpse settled. "Why now?" he asked quietly.

"It's necessary, long overdue."

Charley took a breath, knowing he was heading into dangerous territory. "And when John comes back with her chip?"

Sarah's flinch was almost undetectable. She hadn't realized that Charley knew. "She can't pass for human anymore. She's useless to us." It was the truth. Even if John came back with his prize, inserting the chip into this body wouldn't be an option. So why was Sarah continuing to stall the inevitable?

"If he comes back with a chip and no body…?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "There's always another body, there's always more of them." Maybe Cameron's chip would end up in a body similar to 'Uncle Bob's.' At least then Sarah wouldn't have to worry about John falling in love with the thing. That thought almost made her laugh. Almost. "Will you help me?"

Charley looked at her for a long moment, stopping only when she walked off towards the machine. At that point, he had no choice but to follow. Together, they heaved the deceptively small frame up and over, hauling it into the fire. Sarah watched the machine burn and Charley tried not to wince at the sounds and smells of melting skin.

After awhile, Sarah spoke. Cameron's remains had long since melted into nothing. "Kyle, John's father, when I met him, he talked about the time travel. Nobody goes home, nobody comes back. That's what he said."

Charley wished she would look at him, but then he didn't. He didn't want to see what was happening in her eyes, in her head.

"I always knew I was going to lose him, just not like this."

Charley couldn't take it. Reaching down, he slipped his fingers into hers. She didn't return the gesture, but she didn't pull away either. "You haven't lost anyone," he argued, realizing too late the poor choice of words.

Sarah finally took her eyes off the pit, favoring him with a mirthless smile. "I've lost everyone, Charley. Everyone."

Releasing her hand, Charley turned her so that she faced him, surprised that Sarah would allow the contact. One hand touching an arm that was too thin, Charley used his other hand to cup her cheek. "I'm here. Savannah's here. And John's going to be here."

Sarah shook her head no while simultaneously leaning into his touch. "Weaver isn't coming back. Neither is John." Her voice broke on the last word and the tears started flowing.

"You don't believe that." If she did, she wouldn't be bothering with any of this. Him, Savannah, burning the endo. She'd have given up on anything and everything.

"You don't know what I believe," Sarah retorted, voice strained with emotion.

"I know you better than you'd like to think," Charley replied, wiping a few tears with his thumb.

"Maybe. And look what that's done to you."

Sarah tried pulling away. Charley pulled her towards him. There was a moment of rigid resistance. She could get away if she wanted, and he'd probably get hurt in the process. And then Sarah sagged against him, hands moving up to fist into his shirt.

Ignoring the slight pain of her nails cutting into his flesh, Charley pulled her tighter against him, one hand rubbing her back while the other combed through her hair. He wanted to tell her what it'd taken him so long to accept. It wasn't her fault. None of the horror in her life was her fault. Charley had never once blamed John, and he couldn't legitimately blame her. Sarah hadn't asked for this. She'd tried, was _still _trying to stop it. Michelle's death rested on Cromartie's shoulders. Skynet was responsible for Cromartie. Skynet was responsible for everything.

Charley wanted to tell her this, but the sound of her sobbing was distracting him. Sarah's breath came in harsh, agonizing gasps that quickly turned to muffled screams of grief. She pressed harder against him, snaking her arms around his neck and stifling her cries against his shoulder. Charley held her and swayed with her a little and said nothing. Savannah wasn't the only one in need of emotional release.

He'd never seen her cry, certainly never seen her like this. He didn't try empty words of comfort, words Sarah was too far-gone to hear anyway. The only time he spoke was in response to a barely intelligible statement about how she shouldn't have let John go. Charley hated himself a little, knowing that he'd perpetuated the idea of John's leaving being her fault.

"John's coming back," he murmured, still rocking her in his arms.

"No one comes back," she argued, struggling to talk past the tears. "You lose people. That's all."

"You came back. Both of you. I thought you and John were gone and you came back."

Sarah's only reply to that was a loud sob into Charley's neck. Charley held her tighter, riding out the pain of John's loss and trying not to cry himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Shorter than I originally planned, but I wanted to post before too many people had too much time to stew in hatred over Cameron being burned. And no, I'm not stupid; I knew that scene would get the reaction it got. There was mention that it was a horrible thing to do. I agree. But…this is Sarah Connor. She was ready to kill Cameron several episodes before the finale. Then she was ready to ditch Cameron, even knowing the truth about Riley's death. She had it in for the Tin Miss even before the whole jump to the future that lost her her son. There was mention that Sarah was incredibly ungrateful after what Cameron did for her. Well yeah. By the last few episodes, Sarah was very clear on the fact that she did not care about Cameron. At all. She was spouting nonsense about Future-John sending Cameron away because he couldn't stand her anymore. I emphasize the part about nonsense, but that's where Sarah's head was at the time. I'll get into more detail in the chapter, and if you want to argue me on it then I have no doubt that you will. I will say that in a show with timelines galore, the loss of one Cameron shouldn't necessarily mean the _loss _of _Cameron_. If you can't look past my evilness long enough to check out the rest of the story well, that's cool.

For those who asked, this isn't meant to be a Jameron thing. Do I actively dislike them? No. Am I aware that there are many, many people who can and do write that couple better than I would? Yes. Am I interested in pursuing other characters and other aspects of the show with this fic? Yes. I'm not saying John and Cameron won't show up, they might. I don't plan this to be too long, but the muse hasn't given me a roadmap of exactly what will happen. That said, if they do show up, it won't be 'til the end, and they won't have massive parts to play. There are so many other fics that already focus on Jameron, and I wanted to do something different. If that means I'm not one of the popular kids, so be it. I can still hope that one or two of you will enjoy this. If you do like it, leave a review. If you don't like it, leave a review. However, I'd appreciate it if after you bash me for lack of Jameron, you could comment on something else as well :)

* * *

><p>Burning the metal caused something to shift, something important. Sarah was suddenly Aunt Sarah. Charley didn't press Savannah for details about the change. He assumed it had something to do with the way Sarah comforted the girl, the way Sarah admitted to being in pain herself. So Sarah became Aunt Sarah, even though the frequency of her visits dropped suddenly and dramatically.<p>

She couldn't seem to face him after the breakdown in the garage. Charley didn't understand why being human was such a crime to her, and he didn't get much chance to question her on it. She stopped coming around and all he got were thirty second phone calls, most of those from Ellison, confirming that they were still alive. When Sarah was there, he'd wanted her to go away, to stop disrupting this life she'd forced on him and Savannah. Now that she _wasn't _there, Savannah missed her. So did he, without knowing exactly why.

There was almost a month of almost no contact. Charley still didn't know what Sarah was doing. The best he ever got was 'I'm trying. I'm trying to stop it.' Not a wealth of information, and Sarah had trained Ellison to tighten his lips as well. This routine of less knowledge being best was getting old fast by the time he got the call.

It was Ellison again. He sounded curt and stretched, and he was talking to Sarah in the background. Trying to anyway. Savannah was nearby when Charley answered the phone, and he walked away quickly, hoping the girl wouldn't repeat any of Sarah's more creative obscenities.

"Something's happened," Ellison stated. "Are you busy?"

It was a ridiculous question. He had no job, no friends. He was in hiding with a dog and a traumatized little girl for company. "I'm never busy. What's going on?" At least she was alive. If she was swearing and yelling at Ellison, at least she was alive.

Ellison started talking about a lead on Kaliba, on Danny Dyson. Charley knew about the Dyson boy, Sarah had at least given him that much. Ellison was saying something about Sarah getting shot when Sarah herself got on the phone.

"Don't come here," she ordered, voice weak and strained. "Don't you come here."

Charley was already grabbing medical supplies from the closet and telling Savannah to get a jacket and shoes. "Where are you? What happened?"

"Don't. Savannah-"

"Savannah's coming with me. How bad is it?"

"It's not bad," she said. The lie was not one of her most convincing. "Stay where you are, keep Savannah there. That's all I'm asking from you, Charley…"

She sounded pissed off. And then she started coughing and she might've dropped the phone and Ellison got back on the line, rattling off an address and telling Charley to hurry up.

* * *

><p>It took more than an hour to get to the other safehouse. Charley assumed Sarah had set that one up as well, that she was living there. For someone who's sole purpose was to track these Kaliba people and stop Judgment Day, Sarah had been making a long commute to the lighthouse, sometimes twice a week. That wasn't the case now, but before the metal burned…<p>

Ellison met them outside and rushed them in. He took Savannah in his arms and started talking to her about nothing, pointing his chin towards the back of the house.

Cursing to himself, Charley left Ellison to field Savannah's inquiries on what was wrong. He rushed into a room with a bed and little else. This wasn't a home, it was a place to store weapons and catch a few hours sleep.

Sarah was sitting on the edge of the mattress, an open first-aid kit spilled near her feet. She was decked out in mission gear, stuff Charley had never seen. Combat boots, fatigues, an outfit that made her look hard, intimidating. Or would have if the majority of her blood supply wasn't gushing all over it.

"God!" Charley exclaimed, reaching her in half a second. There was no color in her face, which only accentuated the color of blood. She was pressing weakly at a spot by her side, near her ribs. The shaking of her hands made it impossible to keep the pressure going.

"I told you not to come."

Charley shook his head and tore open his medical bag, much better equipped than the kit on the floor. Only Sarah could look and sound so weak and terrible while looking and sounding so irritated. "Not tonight, Sarah. I'm not listening to that speech tonight. Move your hands."

"It's fine."

She was either in denial or she truly was insane. Charley tried getting at the wound and Sarah used what strength she had to fight him. "Stop!" he commanded. "Stop it, Sarah." Fear, anger, and desperation warred within him, and Charley tamped down on all three.

"I can't stop."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I've got it. I don't need your help."

"If that's true then you take Savannah and you get out of my life for good this time, but you let me take care of this first!"

The words had their desired effect. Sarah quit fighting, dropped her hands and let Charley replace them with his own. For the second time in a month, she let go in front of him, working not to collapse into his arms. Gripping the bed with cold fingers, Sarah put her head down, doing her best not to puke.

"What happened?" Charley asked tightly, noting that her eyes were starting to close. "Sarah. Hey. Look at me. What happened to you?"

With difficulty, Sarah managed to blink her eyes open and meet his gaze. Her vision was hazier than she would've liked. "I got shot."

Charley didn't know if this was her disturbed version of humor. He stifled a hysterical bark of laughter. "That I picked up on. Who did it?"

"Kaliba. There was a facility outside the city, thought Dyson might be there."

"Was he?"

"Don't know. I got shot, then I got distracted."

Charley really wished he knew if she was trying to be droll or if the blood loss was simply getting to her. He pulled things out of the kit, worked on autopilot, saw the way her head kept bobbing as if she was too tired to keep it up. "You went into a Kaliba facility alone."

"I'm used to alone. Worked alone all the time when John was younger."

"Yeah. Didn't you also get _shot _when John was younger? Then arrested?"

Sarah winced with her eyes closed as Charley's probing made the pain worse. A far-off portion of her brain cursed Ellison for divulging so much of her past to Charley. "It happens."

Charley spared a moment to gape incredulously. It shouldn't anymore, but sometimes her casual attitude towards all this still shocked him. "To you."

"To me," she confirmed, disregarding the sarcasm. Some part of her was amused. She'd turned into Reese. Reese who was so casual about a bullet through the arm. She was Kyle, and Charley had taken on her role. Reese said she'd learn to be a soldier and he was right. "Third time's the charm."

That surprised him and he lost track for a second and Sarah winced. "Sorry," he said quickly, refocusing. "Three times?"

Right, Charley only knew about the two. "Started off at a UFO convention, ended up in a morgue," she explained, gritting her teeth. "Forget to tell you that?"

"Seems to be a pattern with you. Hold still."

There was relative silence for awhile, the only noises being Sarah's occasional hisses of pain and Charley's apologies for causing them. Then a rarely used TV in the other room came on. Ellison was still trying to distract Savannah, maybe keep her from noticing the blood trail that started outside and ended here. The _Jetsons _theme song was audible through the walls. Hearing it, Sarah came as close as she ever did anymore to laughing.

"What?" Charley asked, glancing at her. They were sitting next to each other on the bed. By necessity, Sarah's shirt was off so he could access the wound on her side. Charley tried not to think of how he'd react to this if the situation were different, if there weren't blood and bullets involved. "What's funny?"

"That," Sarah replied, gesturing weakly towards the closed door through which the TV still filtered. Ellison must've closed it, but she wasn't sure when. Hopefully it was before Charley stripped her half naked. "That show. Used to be my favorite."

"_Jetsons_, seriously? I was more of a _Flinstones _kid."

"Yeah well, I would be too. Now."

He was making small talk to keep her conscious, and because it was always too damn quiet with them, too heavy. The small talk was starting to confuse him. "Would you think less of me if I asked what you just said?"

Sarah grimaced. Charley's words reminded her of John, something she'd say to John when he was getting too techy. "Show about the future, all that wondrous technology. Loved it, looked forward to it. Looked forward to how easy life would be with all those computers."

Commenting on the irony would be utterly pointless.. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Can we save the lecture until after I've passed out for a few hours?"

"No. You get any strength back, you won't stick around long enough to hear the lecture."

Sarah sighed deeply. She was exhausted, aching, nauseated, and still bare from the waist up. "I'm not in a position to argue with you right now, Charley."

Frustrated, Charley clenched his left hand against his thigh. Sarah looked down as he did this, noting the glint of his wedding ring. The ring was covered in blood, as were his hands. Charley followed her gaze, saw the symbol of his marriage dirty and stained with Sarah Connor's blood.

He left the bed in a flash, leaving the room as well. He closed the door, but Sarah still heard the taps in the bathroom. There was the start and stop of running water, and then Charley's footsteps. The safehouse was small because it could be. No Cameron, no Derek complaining that he didn't have a bed. No John. From the bedroom, she could hear the volume on the TV going down, hear Charley muttering to Ellison. Hear him speak to Savannah in a brighter, friendlier voice, assuring her that Aunt Sarah would be fine. Sarah winced at the intimacy of the title, at the fact that Charley was lying to the kid without meaning to.

Charley returned with his hands free of blood and a stony expression that would rival Sarah on her best day. After shutting the door behind him, Charley went to the small dresser, yanking open the second drawer from the top.

"I'm sorry," Sarah told him, voice more ragged than she would've liked.

"Yeah. You say that a lot, don't you?" There was a loose-fitting shirt in his hands, but he didn't close the drawer and he didn't move towards her. He just stood there, head down, hands clenching the edge of the dresser.

Sarah bowed her own head and said nothing. The gunshot wound was making it tough enough to breathe, and now her throat was constricting for an entirely new reason.

A long moment passed before Charley turned again. While he got himself together, Sarah had begun to tremble a bit. Whether it was the shock of injuries or the swirl of repressed emotions, he didn't know.

Curbing his desire to slam the drawer shut, he closed it normally. Crossing back to Sarah, he got in front of her and held up the shirt. "Let me help."

"I can do it," Sarah replied quietly, hissing as she moved to take the garment from him.

Still holding the shirt, Charley caught her hands in both of his, applying the barest amount of pressure. He stared her down until she was forced to meet his eyes. "I know you can do it. Let me help."

Sarah did, trying not to think of how awkward the process was, trying not to think of times that process had been reversed. She'd been with men after Kyle, all for John's benefit, so he could learn. Charley had been for her, because he made her remember happiness.

"You remembered how I arrange my clothes?" she asked. He was pulling off her boots and helping to remove her pants and it was too much. She couldn't sit here and let him do this in silence and she distracted herself by talking.

It took him a second to realize she was talking about the drawer. "Funny what sticks with you," he replied. "The things that don't go away." He moved back to the dresser, opening the third drawer on the left.

"Even when you want them to."

"I wish you'd stop saying things like that." Charley came back with a baggy pair of sweatpants and knelt before her.

"You don't want me to say what we're both thinking."

Charley waited until she was dressed comfortably and laid out under the covers. He did everything as fast as possible, for both their sakes. Her blood pressure was too low and the simple task of changing clothes had worn her down. After the grumbling on her part, after she was propped up on pillows, he wiped sweat-soaked hair from her face and checked her pulse again. He felt guilty for using that as an excuse to brush her hand with his.

"You know what I want, Sarah? I want you alive."

Sarah shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "I'm alive."

"You should've called."

Sarah closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. "I didn't want the girl to see me like this."

Charley scoffed derisively. He'd been perched at the edge of the bed. Now he got up and put his back to her. "You didn't want her to see you like this. Did you want to die?"

Why was she always being asked that? By terminators, by kidnappers, and now by Charley. "I had it under control. I didn't want to drag you back into this."

Shaking his head, Charley rubbed his own temple, angry beyond words at her refusal to see. "I'm in this, Sarah. I never left. No matter how much I want things to be different, they're just not. I'm in this, and I don't want to be in this alone. I _refuse _to be in this alone because you've decided to get reckless. I can't face this craziness on my own, Sarah. I won't."

"What if you don't have a choice?" she asked, voice low. "I faced it on my own for years."

Charley finally turned to look at her. His face held too many emotions to decipher. "And then when you had the choice _not _to face it alone anymore, you ran. Alone must not be that bad."

Sarah was silent. She waited for him to leave, but he seemed to want more from her. What that could be, she had no idea. She'd run because she had nothing to give him, nothing but pain. Nothing had changed, except that now he'd sampled what she had to offer.

"I'm not going to die from a bullet, Charley. Don't worry."

"Don't worry," he repeated in disbelief. "Why, because you're bulletproof? Like them?"

Sarah grimaced, thinking of Cameron. John would hate her for that, assuming she ever saw him again. She'd waited weeks, every day hoping there'd be a flash of blue light somewhere and a call to her cell phone. That hadn't happened, and a mutinous part of Sarah's brain told her to accept the fact that it might not happen at all.

"Not bulletproof," said Sarah, realizing Charley still wanted an answer. "I don't think I'll die from a bullet."

"Well, that's reassuring. I'll be sure and tell Savannah that, put it on your tombstone."

Charley turned and left, closing the door more loudly than he meant to. While it was open, Sarah heard the first strains of another happy, cartoon theme song.

* * *

><p>Charley's disgust sent him away before he could see the look of grim resignation on her face. John would hate her, but there'd been no choice. Cameron could heal, but only to a point. There were limits, and she'd been badly damaged at the jail. Sarah was sure she remembered Cameron explaining once, after a pretty bad gunfight, that there were limits. At least that's what she kept telling herself.<p>

More firmly, she told herself that there couldn't be a terminator propped up in Charley's garage for an indefinite period of time. They hadn't burned Cromartie right away, and then Cromartie had become John Henry. John Henry, the reason Cameron's chip was gone; the reason Sarah didn't have her son.

John would probably hate her, but that would happen anyway. He'd hate her for the cancer, for being gone when he got back. Or maybe he'd hate her so much that her death wouldn't seem that bad. Either way.

Sarah had been worried during the shirt-changing operation. Not very-it wasn't like Charley was chomping at the bit to feel her up-but still worried. There'd been a small chance that he'd find out about the lump in her breast. He'd already asked about the weight loss, asked if she was eating. That was part of the reason she'd stopped coming around. There was also the fact that she'd given Savannah to Charley so she could focus wholly on the mission. She couldn't split her focus anymore. And she couldn't face Charley after breaking down in the garage, like she had any right to seek comfort from him.

Charley didn't know about the cancer, or the threat of it. If John ever came back, both of them would probably hate her for not saying anything. At least if she stayed away, Savannah wouldn't get so attached, even though Charley kept saying that the kid missed her. The girl would be safe no matter what, Sarah was sure of that. Charley's earlier outburst about taking Savannah herself had been his way of shocking her into submission. Charley loved that kid, he'd never let anyone hurt her or take her away. Charley would die before allowing that to happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **A few things I want to mention before we press on here. First off, thanks to those who either reviewed publicly or chatted with me via PM. I know some of you are still wary of the lack of Cameron here, are choosing to come along anyway. Anyone who read my last TSCC offering knows that I love our Tin Miss very much. Best. Terminator. Ever. However, for this particular story to go where it needs to, Cam needs to be MIA. It sucks, but I know that at least some of you are dealing with it, so thank you muchly.

Next is my customary ritual of begging for reviews. I'm trying to strike a balance between the angst inherent in any Sarah/Charley fic, and everything else that's not angst. I'm trying, but unless you guys vote yay or nay, I won't be able to gauge my success. Also, thanks to Uncommoner for smoothing out some rough edges in chapter one. I tweaked a few things in the Sarah/Charley dialogue from chapter two because some lines bothered me after the fact. It's nothing you need to reread, I'm probably the only one who'd notice the difference. Enjoy, hope to see you at the next update.

* * *

><p>Sarah woke up to the sound of her own scream. The residual images from her latest nightmare were bad enough, but there was also the bullet wound to contend with. As soon as she gained enough awareness to realize that her dream was a dream, she also realized that her side hurt like hell. The cry of horror was replaced by a grunt of pain as Sarah bit her lip and hunched over in bed, trying to regain control. Charley burst in before she was anywhere close to doing it.<p>

"You okay?" he asked urgently, coming to kneel before her. "What happened?"

Eyes closed, Sarah shook her head and held up the hand that wasn't clutching her ribs. Working to slow her breathing, she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, moving down her arm. The contact was soothing, but it also made her shiver. Hopefully Charley would chalk it up to the cold sweat all over her skin.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

No, just hurting. Sarah shook her head in the negative. "Nightmare. Nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing."

The gentle rubbing was gone. Sarah felt both relieved and bereft, doing her best to ignore the latter emotion. Steeling herself, she raised her head and opened her eyes and looked into Charley's face. Then she looked further down and saw the pistol on the floor beside him. He'd obviously brought it in and set it aside. "You fly in guns blazing every time Savannah has bad dreams?" she asked, nodding towards the gun.

Following her gaze, Charley picked up the weapon, setting it on an otherwise bare nightstand. "Don't need to. Buddy sleeps next to her, finds me and whines every time the nightmares start. Usually I get in there before they get too bad."

"I'm glad," Sarah replied. It was true, but didn't sound that way. Her voice was still rough and her eyes kept flicking towards that gun. She was the one who told him to buy it. She was the one who told him to keep it close and be prepared. What he'd just done, it was something she'd done with John. He was a kid, kids had nightmares. They called out in the night for reasons that weren't life and death. And yet Sarah's first instinct at the hint of any distress from her son was to grab the gun. Just in case. She'd ordered Charley to have the gun around. Just in case. He was learning, and that should've made her happy. It didn't.

"Didn't mean to wake you."

Charley shook his head in the negative. "How do you feel?"

His hands moved towards her and Sarah knew he was repressing an urge to check the wound. "A little sore. Felt a lot worse. What time is it?"

Light was pouring in through the windows, but Sarah knew instinctively that it couldn't be that late. Bullet or no, she didn't sleep in. It was still early, and it was late when he arrived the night before. Charley should've been sleeping. Sarah knew she'd screamed a little, but not that loudly. She'd also tamped down on the cry within seconds. John used to sleep close to her, which made controlling her reactions a necessity. No one else seemed to be awake, so the scream couldn't have been ear piercing, and Charley made it in here in record time. He hadn't been sleeping, and Sarah fought the idea that he'd been watching over her from outside the room.

"Little after six," Charley stated, confirming Sarah's suspicion about the time. Touching her arm again, he held her gaze and prepared for a minor battle. "I want to check this."

"I told you, it's fine," Sarah retorted. The words could've sounded brusque or angry, but they didn't.

"You also said that last night," Charley reminded her, his own voice level. "But sometimes our definitions of fine don't really line up."

The look on his face was impossible to refuse and even though Sarah dreaded doing so, she allowed him to help get the shirt off so he could check her bandage. For a minute, she thought she was off the hook as Charley focused entirely on her injury. Then his eyes started to roam.

"Lots of bruises," he remarked, doing his best to stay neutral. The occasional glimpses of her arms didn't paint a full picture. He'd seen the full array of injuries last night but there'd been too much going on for him to linger or comment.

"Not really," she countered. Truthfully, Sarah thought this an attempt to be sneaky. He could've checked the bandage without removing the shirt. A slight inconvenience, but he could've dealt with it. Charley did this so he could ask about the bruises and the cuts and the scratches. It gave him an excuse and she'd actually gone along with it. Sarah must've been more tired than she realized, in more pain.

"Do I want to know?" Charley asked, carefully helping her slip back into the shirt.

"About the bruises? Job hazard."

She'd been littered with scars even years ago. Charley tried not to care about all the new ones. The old, Sarah made a few vague references to a lousy boyfriend. After John's father, but long before they'd met. Charley always wanted to push for more details, but he hadn't. Sarah would've run far and fast if he had. "Not the bruises, the nightmare. Seemed like a bad one."

"They're all bad."

"You…you need to talk?"

"No. They're all bad, they all run together. You lose the details."

Since Zeira Corp, since her reappearance in his life, Charley had gotten much better at recognizing Sarah's lies. He recognized one now, but said nothing. "Wound looks okay. With the amount of damage, I was worried about infection. Guess it's like you said, third time's the charm."

That reminded her. She shouldn't do this, but Charley needed to understand. "Fourth. I got shot in the shoulder when Cameron first arrived. Forgot about that one last night."

Charley's jaw dropped a little. "You forgot about a bullet in the shoulder."

"There was a lot going on."

"Last night, or when it happened?"

"Both. Sometimes you forget. The injuries, they run together."

"You lose the details," Charley said flatly. As usual, he had no words for this situation, so he went for the practical. "We need to get some food in you."

"Charley-"

"Savannah wanted a snack last night. I saw the cabinets, the fridge."

She couldn't very well tell him about the constant knots in her stomach, about the nausea that never seemed to ease. "I hate grocery shopping and Ellison knows a lot of takeout places. Mutually beneficial arrangement."

Charley couldn't help the frown marring his features. Ellison talked mostly with Savannah the night before, he and Charley's conversations were limited in the extreme. There was another bedroom, Savannah slept there last night, but Charley had put it out of his mind until now. "Ellison's living here?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"That's not what I... he's living here and you two haven't killed each other?"

Sarah was mildly insulted at the idea of James Ellison standing a chance against her. "We don't sit home nights and play Scrabble together. He's here because I need him to be."

Charley flashed to the previous night, to all of Sarah's countless assertions that she didn't need his help. "Ah," he said, wishing badly that he could stop caring about her.

Sarah's face softened marginally, along with her voice. "Don't look at me like that," she repeated. Then she rolled her eyes and made herself change tones. "Ellison needs to be here, I don't trust him."

"But you've worked with him all this time."

"I'm not worried about betrayal. I trust he's on our side." She did, surprisingly enough. All it took for that was weeks and weeks of an uneasy truce and hours upon hours of arguing, along with sporadic shouting matches.

"And you still need him here."

"I need to _watch _him. Babysit. Trusting him not to betray us isn't the same as trusting him not to do something stupid that gets us all killed."

There were footsteps in the hallway. In his haste to reach Sarah, Charley hadn't bothered to shut her door, which made it possible for him to turn his head and see Ellison on the threshold.

"Charley," he said, nodding a greeting. "Sarah."

"Morning."

Ellison's tone made it clear that he'd heard Sarah calling him an incompetent fool. Sarah's tone made it clear that she knew he'd heard, but didn't care. The expressions on both their faces told Charley that occurrences like these weren't rare, and Charley wondered how much time Sarah devoted to berating Ellison every time they spoke.

"Savannah will want breakfast. You hungry?"

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but Charley cut her off. "She's hungry."

Ellison, still in sleepwear, nodded and moved off down the hallway. "I'll get dressed, pick something up."

Charley thanked him and Sarah glared. "I don't need you making decisions for me."

Charley merely stared. Her intimidation looks were bearable after a point, and he'd attained some level of inoculation.

Sarah relented. It was early and she was tired and achy, and maintaining the act with Charley was hard during the best of times. "I don't need you taking care of me," she said quietly, observing the bedspread. "You can't do that anymore, Charley."

He couldn't, he'd never had a chance at that. He shouldn't want to, not after all that'd been lost already. Charley brushed a hand over her chin, just for a second. A quick gesture, but it got her to look him in the face. "You're one to talk. You don't need to take care of me either, Sarah. You worry about Judgment Day, about…about John, but don't worry about me. Or Savannah."

"It's not that easy, Charley."

"No," he said meaningfully. "No it isn't. So maybe next time you're concerned about us, you find a different way of showing it. Like not bleeding to death because you're too stubborn to pick up a phone."

"It wasn't that bad. I've had worse."

"Is this your version of making me feel better?"

"This is my version of making you get it." Even though he knew enough to bring the gun in, and that understanding made Sarah want to cringe. "This is what I do. It's all I have anymore." John was gone, and Savannah was Charley's, and the only thing Sarah had left was the mission. "This is what I have, and this is what happens sometimes because of it." She gestured towards her most recent gunshot wound. "That's just how it is."

Charley opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't trust himself to talk, to do it without saying the wrong things. Things that couldn't and shouldn't be said. He gave himself a moment and then, "You won't have anything if you keep going like this. I told you I'm not facing it alone. I'm not explaining your death to Savannah. To John."

Sarah looked away. He knew already that seeing John again was a long shot. Pointing this out would've hurt too much, so Sarah didn't. Charley didn't know about the lump in her breast, didn't know that he'd probably end up explaining her death to Savannah no matter what happened.

"Next time you get shot, don't worry about taking care of me or leaving me out of it. You said you couldn't do it on your own, you admitted that to me. Be smart enough to remember it next time, because you owe me that much, Sarah. After all this, you owe me at least that much."

* * *

><p>Sarah grimaced while taking a seat at the kitchen table. Charley started to say something, then he stopped himself and she was grateful. Grateful enough to sip the orange juice he set in front of her without putting up a fight. She murmured her thanks and he nodded, pulling up a chair next to her. And then there was the silence again.<p>

"So Ellison lives here."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Ellison stays here between missions. I stay here between missions. On good days, we stay out of each other's way."

Charley nodded. He didn't want to know what happened on bad days, and was glad Savannah wasn't around to see it.

"Sometimes I worry about him," Sarah offered.

"You mentioned."

"Not about his idiocy," Sarah grumbled, though that was always an issue. "Sometimes I think he's one of them."

Charley's eyes went wide. "Them. You think that Ellison's metal."

"Sometimes in the mornings, yeah I do. No human should be that cheerful before coffee, it's not natural."

She offered a small smile and Charley countered with a grin of his own. "Morning person?"

"One of many flaws."

Relaxing slightly, Charley leaned back in his chair, glad for a break from all the heaviness. "I don't know, I don't remember you being that bad in the mornings."

Because she'd slept in Nebraska. With Charley, the nightmares hadn't kept her up all night. Nebraska with Charley was easily the best she'd slept since before Reese entered her life. "You were smart enough to start the coffee early," she replied, because telling him the other stuff wasn't a possibility.

Savannah's arrival forestalled any response Charley may've had. Rubbing her eyes as she approached, the girl's whole face lit up when she caught sight of the adults. "Aunt Sarah!" she exclaimed, practically bounding towards the woman."

From his place next to Sarah, Charley caught the child in his arms, pulling her into an affectionate hug before she could reach her target. "Hey you," he greeted, settling her in his lap.

"Good morning," she said happily. "Aunt Sarah, you're okay!"

"I'm okay," Sarah confirmed, reaching over to touch Savannah's hair. Her dislike of morning people in no way extended to the child. Even as a kid, John could be a headache in the mornings. The life they usually woke up to, Sarah hadn't begrudged him his moodiness.

"I told you she'd be fine."

Savannah nodded agreement, but her eyes said something else. Her eyes had the look of someone who'd learned too early that adults didn't necessarily mean what they said. She squirmed in Charley's arms, eager to get closer to Sarah.

Charley loosened his hold, but not before reminding the girl that Sarah was hurt. A bear hug even from someone as small as Savannah wasn't what the brunette needed right now.

Sarah struggled as she watched the scene. There was the familiar frustration at Charley's continued overprotection. Then there were the conflicts that came with knowing he still cared, _loving _that he still cared, and knowing that he shouldn't. He shouldn't care, and she shouldn't allow it. So said the voice in her head every time she started to forget herself around Charley. The worst part, that inner voice seemed to alternate between sounding like Sarah herself, sounding like Derek, and sounding like Cameron. Dead and gone respectively, the latter two continued to find ways of haunting her.

Charley let Savannah slide from his lap. The girl stepped forward tentatively but did nothing else, mindful of Charley's warning.

To hell with it. Her attempts to keep both of them from getting attached were already failing, and with orange juice instead of coffee, Sarah lacked the stamina needed to keep the effort going. "Come here," she murmured.

Savannah obeyed, wrapping a tiny arm around Sarah's uninjured side. "I'm glad you're okay," she said, pressing lightly against the older woman.

Sarah hummed in agreement, allowing herself to kiss Savannah's temple. She felt Charley's eyes on them and then the moment was broken by Ellison's entry through the front door. He was laden down with groceries and the other two quickly moved to help him, Savannah taking hold of the smaller items. Sarah offered to help as well, more out of a need to move than any desire to assist him.

"Sarah please, we've got it."

She rolled her eyes and spoke quietly while Savannah talked Ellison's ear off. "Didn't we have this discussion already?"

"We had _a _discussion," Charley corrected. "We didn't talk about my not wanting to clean up again when you tear that thing open," he said, nodding at the bandage just visible under her shirt.

Grudgingly, Sarah relented, allowing the others to bustle around her. Her guilt kept her still, the knowledge that Charley must be getting tired of cleaning up her messes.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Sarah, Charley and Savannah were enjoying what could've been a normal breakfast. Ellison had resisted Savannah's pleas that he join in, and Sarah hadn't missed the way his eyes kept darting between herself and Charley.<p>

"I'm going for a run," he told them, changing his tone as he spoke directly to Savannah. "I'll be back soon."

"She really likes him," Sarah said quietly as Savannah was pouring a second glass of milk.

Charley shrugged in response. "He's a nice guy." The noise and expression he got for that remark made Charley revise an earlier opinion. Part of him really _did _want to know what happened on the bad days between Ellison and Sarah. Parts of it at least were bound to be entertaining.

"This is good," Sarah told him. Her plate was almost empty, a minor miracle even though she hadn't taken much to begin with.

"Uncle Charley's a good cook," Savannah agreed. She was eating French toast with syrup, but most of the syrup was on her face rather than in her mouth.

"She's a biased critic, I think." Grinning, Charley took a napkin to Savannah's face, wiping away the worst of the mess.

"I disagree," Sarah argued, taking a sip from her beverage. "I've missed your cooking."

She was being honest. About a small thing yes, but usually it took so much work to get her walls to crack even that much. "Yeah? Well, never thought I'd say this, but I've missed your cooking, too."

Sarah's laugh was pure disbelief, but it was also real. "You miss my cooking. You mean my pancakes?"

Charley faked confusion. "That's what I said Your cooking."

Savannah, unaware of Sarah's non-existent culinary skills, missed the joke entirely. She still smiled though, because the adults were smiling. Uncle Charley smiled enough, but he still seemed sad a lot of the time. Aunt Sarah almost always looked sad, and when the two of them were together, it seemed to get worse. Savannah still didn't understand that since they were supposed to be friends, but for now it didn't matter. For now, everyone seemed happy.

There was much Savannah didn't understand. The fate of her parents, where her new mother had disappeared to with Sarah's son and John Henry. She didn't understand all that seemed to happen between the adults in her life. But Savannah knew enough to realize that happiness shouldn't be questioned, not when it was such a rare thing. So Savannah basked in the moment and tried not to concern herself with how long it would last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**_: _A lighter chapter because I think real drama requires some levity, and too much angst is just way too angsty. Exit on your right and drop some feedback as you leave.

* * *

><p>"You don't need to be here, Charley."<p>

She was on the couch in the living room. He was cleaning up the remains of breakfast. Ellison was outside with Savannah so that the other two could argue in private.

Charley didn't pause in his task of putting away the dishes. He hadn't needed to ask where anything was in the kitchen. Clothes, cabinets, Sarah arranged them both the same way she had when they first met. Charley guessed that she liked stability, routine. Probably took it wherever she could, even if all that meant was plates on the right and bowls on the left. "Are you kicking me out?" he asked, still focused on the dishes.

She should. She wanted to. It would be easier on everyone. "If I said yes, would you leave?" Sarah questioned, keeping her tone light.

"No," Charley replied easily. Setting Savannah's milk glass where it needed to be, he closed the cabinet and walked into the next room. "I wouldn't," he continued. There was a recliner near the couch. He went to the chair and sat on the arm and leaned forward a bit. "Is there a reason you're so determined on getting me out of here?"

"Is there a reason you're so determined to stay?"

"Yeah, actually. See, the more you work at getting me out of here, the more worried I get. Because then I can only assume that you have plans. Plans you probably shouldn't have, not with that bullet wound."

He was assuming that she'd bolt right away, chase down another Kaliba lead. Sarah wasn't about to tell him the truth, even if it meant an end to this particular debate. "You don't need to be here," she said quietly, holding his gaze as she spoke. "I'm fine now, like you told Savannah. I owe you for that, but you don't to stay."

"You don't owe me," he refuted, because he couldn't accept or verbalize the other thing. The thing about how some part of him _wanted _to stay. "Besides, Savannah misses Ellison." Ignoring the sour expression he got for that remark, Charley kept talking. "She misses you, too."

That made Sarah close her eyes for a moment. Part of the reason she'd given the girl to Charley was stability. A truly normal upbringing was an impossibility, Savannah needed to learn and prepare for the worst case scenario. However, placing her with Charley, who was more than willing to pour everything he had into raising her, that was the best Sarah could do as far as giving Savannah a happy childhood. Charley was strong and steady and dependable. You knew what to expect from him. Meanwhile, Sarah kept mucking up all that stability she'd hoped to give the child. She was there and then she wasn't. She was affectionate and then she wasn't. Sarah knew this about herself, knew Charley resented her for it, knew that _Savannah _may one day resent her for it. She understood all this, but understanding didn't always equal change.

"Savannah has you."

Charley nodded. "And she _wants _you."

Sarah laughed without much humor. The girl seemed to have adjusted to sucking up whatever small bits of warmth Weaver bothered to give her. From what Sarah could tell, Savannah had adapted as best she could, worked with what she had, and done her best to convince herself that the machine was her mother. From Ellison's comments, the strategy had worked for a time. But when the bad men came to her house, when Weaver and John Henry disappeared, the wall came down. The world Savannah knew disappeared, and the lies she told herself in order to make sense of that world lost their power. Which explained all the comments about old mommy versus new mommy, the eventual breakdown in Sarah's arms. Without wanting to, Sarah remembered going with Ellison to get Savannah, Promising the girl that she, Sarah, would take care of her. A stupid thing to say, a bad promise to make, but she'd been running on adrenaline and forced numbness, and she'd said whatever was needed to get the look of fear and sadness off Savannah's face.

"She wants me. Guess when you're lonely enough, you take what you can get."

Charley tried not to twitch. He wasn't thinking of Savannah in that moment. "Are we hindering your busy schedule?" he asked.

Sarah felt like lying. She felt like saying that there were missions to spec out, calls to make, leads to follow. She wanted to lie, but didn't. With a shrug, "I was going to clean the guns."

Charley snorted back a laugh. He didn't know whether it was good or bad that he found that remark amusing. "Another Sunday morning with Sarah Connor."

Sarah's expression changed. Charley hardly ever did that. Her real name sounded strange on his lips. She flashed back to the house in Nebraska. Dinner and candles and John gone to the movies. A ring glinting in the candlelight.

"_Sarah Reese, will you marry me?"_

She'd liked Sarah Reese. Despite her normal frustration with the endless aliases, she'd really liked Sarah Reese. Before Sarkissian, John once asked why she had such issues with Cameron. He pointed out that she'd been much more ready to take help from 'Uncle Bob,' despite her history with that model. Sarah had given a terse reply. The situation was different then, 'Uncle Bob' hadn't wound up living with them, hadn't been around long enough to make Sarah insane. She hadn't lied, but she hadn't told John everything. Ten years ago, Sarah had been waiting for disaster. She might not have expected it in the form of that particular terminator at that particular time, but she'd always known it was looming. Her life then was nothing but John. Sarah Connor was the mother of John Connor. She lacked the time, energy, the desire to be anything else.

Sarah Reese was more than that. John remained paramount, as he always would, but Sarah Reese had a life that didn't involve guns or death or war. She had Charley. And despite all the warnings to John about getting complacent, Sarah hadn't followed her own advice. She got comfortable with her life. John never realized how hard it was for her to wake him up that morning and tell him to pack, never realized that she hurt just as badly for what they were losing.

Part of the reason she was so harsh with Cameron, beyond all the obvious stuff, was because of what the metal represented. Failure, when Sarah had dared to hope for success. The death of Sarah Reese. That machine ten years ago, he broke her out of the institution, confirmed what Sarah knew all along, despite her supposed insanity. Cameron, she'd confirmed what Sarah had known, but refused to accept. Sarah Connor existed to prepare her son for Judgment Day. To stop it, if at all possible. Sarah Connor wasn't meant to make a life for herself.

"You okay?"

"I feel great," Sarah responded, jolted back to the here and now. Charley gave her a dubious look. "I don't feel terrible," she amended, earning a small smile. "I'm okay. Really. You don't need to babysit."

"Wasn't planning on it," he replied.

Sarah tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. He was still smiling, in a way that she didn't like. There was a hint of mischief in his tone that also made her nervous. Before she could ask, Savannah came in through the back, Ellison on her heels. Sarah noted the enthusiasm as the kid made a beeline for Charley.

"Hey, honey. Did you and Mr. Ellison have fun?"

"Yes. There's a bird's nest in that tree outside. Mr. Ellison helped lift me up so I could see."

"She's grown," Ellison stated, nodding to the adults as he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. "At least I know she's eating properly."

That was supposedly directed at Charley. Ellison's eyes cut to Sarah as he said it, lingering meaningfully.

"Uncle Charley's a good cook." Savannah repeated her earlier sentiment, not noticing the glare Sarah was directing at Ellison. "Even Buddy thinks so."

Charley laughed in a way Sarah hadn't heard since Nebraska. She'd hoped the kid would be good for him, and right now she was pretty happy with her decision.

"Buddy's a dog. He'll eat just about anything."

Charley locked eyes with Sarah. The brunette knew from that damn smile exactly what he was too nice to say in front of Savannah. _Even your cooking_. Sarah wasn't sure whether to smile or smack him. She chose the latter, pretty happy with that decision as well.

Leaving Charley's side, Savannah joined Sarah on the couch. "Guess what? Uncle Charley said we could stay here this afternoon."

"Did he?" Sarah asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

"He said you didn't feel well, because of how you got hurt. I don't like being alone when I don't feel well. He said it was okay if I kept you company." A pause. "It's okay, right?"

Charley was learning much too fast. She'd used Savannah against him that first night, made sure he was in the room when she promised the girl that he'd take care of her. Apparently, he hadn't forgotten. Apparently, he was not above using Sarah's own methods against her. "Of course it's okay, but what about Mr. Ellison. Don't you want to spend more time with him?"

"I've got to do some research on those files, remember?"

Ellison was in on it. She'd ordered him to get online and check out some companies that might be related to Kaliba. She hadn't been entirely cordial while giving that order, so now he and Charley were conspiring against her. Sarah smiled at Savannah, then she smiled at Charley. The look in her eyes didn't match what her mouth was doing, but Charley didn't seem to care. She continued to glare with her eyes while he continued to smile with his.

* * *

><p>Sometimes when John was much younger, he'd complain about what they didn't have. It wasn't a regular thing, kids knew what they knew and they dealt with it. Still, when he was near Savannah's age, John made an issue out of the fact that they never had cable TV. To this day, Sarah had no idea what brought it on. More often than not, John simply accepted and adapted to their living situation, much like Savannah had with Weaver. But at that time, for whatever reason, John expressed his ill feelings towards Mexican soap operas on a TV that was probably older than his mother. It was an annoying argument, a pointless one, but some part of Sarah had been amused. Amused that despite the craziness he lived in, John was still able to gripe about a relatively normal thing. Then he kept whining and he made the mistake of mentioning boredom, and Sarah sent him out with one of Enrique's sons to learn about hotwiring vehicles. Boredom had no place in the life of John Connor.<p>

Sarah was bored out of her mind. If this was what John had worried about missing, then she truly couldn't fathom what that argument had been about. Charley had left her and Savannah to themselves, making an excuse about helping Ellison with that research. Sarah almost glared just thinking about it. There was only one laptop, and despite her aversion to the things, she was pretty damn sure that two people turning on one computer was overkill. Before he left, Charley had switched on the Disney Channel. He wore an evil grin, or his approximation of one, and Sarah realized then that he was not beyond small acts of revenge.

So this was Hannah Cyrus or Miley Montana or whatever the fuck she called herself. Sarah would've thought that a show involving double identities would hold at least some appeal for her. Instead, Sarah kept remembering an extended drive with Cameron. The metal heard one of those Miley Montana songs on the radio and then another one shortly after that, and then another. Cameron spent the duration of the drive analyzing the lyrics and complaining about their repetitive simplicity.

This wasn't as bad as that. The show was awful and Sarah was restless and bored, but it could've been worse. The weight of Savannah leaning against her uninjured side was nice, even as Sarah devised ways of getting back at the men. A gentle tug on her arm got her out of retribution mode, at least temporarily. "What's up?"

"Can we do something else?"

Savannah didn't seem very entertained either. Sarah wondered briefly if Charley or Ellison had lied to the child, convinced her that _Sarah _was the one who wanted to see this drivel. Making a mental note to investigate that later, Sarah tried not to sound too eager in her acceptance of the request.

They wound up playing cards with a deck found in the junk drawer. Sarah lost, then won, then lost again at Go Fish. They were in the middle of their third game of War (Sarah found it ironic that that particular game was so incredibly simple), when Savannah abruptly gave up on her cards and observed the couch cushions.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

The girl took a few seconds to answer. "Are you mad at me?"

Sarah blinked repeatedly. The poorly-disguised hurt in Savannah's voice was like a well-directed punch striking her from nowhere. "Why would you think I'm mad?"

The child raised her eyes shyly. "Because you always act that way."

Kids and their honesty. At least she could be confident in Savannah's rudimentary observational skills. "I'm not mad." Off the girl's disbelieving look. "At you. I'm not mad at you."

"Then why did you stop coming over?"

Jesus. Because of the mission, because of Charley and the weakness she displayed with him. Because of a million other things that Sarah couldn't explain to herself, never mind Savannah. "I've been busy."

It came out terse and a little rough and Sarah cursed to herself, knowing where Savannah's mind was going. She'd already made the comparison between Sarah and her old mommy. The machine had been busy too, and Weaver's indifference had led to Savannah's friendship with John Henry. One machine with big plans and no time, another one trapped in a basement with nothing _but _time. Sarah could almost laugh at the irony.

"You should come over again and teach me things. I promise I'll do better."

Sarah gave the kid credit for feigned enthusiasm. Her type of schooling was hardly the same as recess twice a day and graham crackers in the afternoon. "You do fine. More than fine. It has nothing to do with you."

That seemed to calm some of the girl's worries. "That's what Uncle Charley said. He promised it wasn't my fault."

"Charley's a smart man, you should listen to him."

"You don't."

There was nothing behind the remark except more honesty and innocent curiosity, meaning Sarah couldn't even get mad.

"Can't you come over more often? You can't be busy _all _the time."

Sarah tried not to react to that. "What about Charley, doesn't he play with you a lot?"

"Yes, but it's not the same, and Uncle Charley's still sad sometimes."

Of course he was sad. Because of her. "What about Buddy?"

"Buddy's a dog, and that's not the same either."

Fair point. "Savannah…"

"You said you weren't mad. You said it was important to teach me things."

"It is."

"Then why aren't you around anymore?"

Fuck. She was going to kill Charley.

* * *

><p>Sarah woke from a dreamless sleep, rested and refreshed. It took a second to realize she was still on the couch, that Savannah was still snuggled against her. Sarah didn't remember dozing off, but she did remember the conversation with Savannah, the girl smiling, more games. Blinking her eyes, Sarah noticed the deck of cards stacked neatly on the table. A comfortable warmth made her look down at the blanket draped over both of them. That definitely hadn't been there earlier.<p>

Ignoring the ache in her side, Sarah left the couch, careful not to wake Savannah. Repositioning the blanket, she made sure the girl was sufficiently covered before moving into the kitchen. She was hungry for the second time today and couldn't remember when that'd happened last. She opened the fridge to find a plate of sandwiches covered in plastic wrap. Most of them were made with her favorite ingredients, but a few were the same ones she'd watched Charley make for Savannah on numerous occasions. Smiling to herself, the brunette took one of the sandwiches and sat down by the counter. It was a sandwich, hardly gourmet, but it tasted incredible nonetheless.

Setting her plate in the sink, Sarah left the kitchen and moved down the hallway. Ellison's door was only partially closed, and she glimpsed him tapping away at his laptop, hunched forward over his desk. Pushing the door open, she took a few steps inside. "Anything?"

Swiveling in his chair, Ellison cracked his knuckles and held up a stack of printouts next to the computer. "Not that I can see. I'm sure you'll want to look them over anyway."

"I will. Where's Charley?"

Putting the documents aside, Ellison gave her a wry look, fingers steepled in front of him. "I warned him, so don't blame me. And don't wake Savannah, keep the yelling to a minimum."

"Why would I yell?"

Ellison merely shook his head, returning his attention to the computer.

Raising her eyebrows, Sarah left him to his own devices and continued down the hall. Their one bathroom was empty, which left…

She found Charley in her bedroom, cleaning and reassembling an assault rifle. It was the second time she'd seen him with a gun, and the image wasn't any less jarring. If anything, this time was worse. She hadn't seen him with a weapon before today, hadn't heard him use her full name more than once or twice. She remained in the doorframe, rooted to the spot.

Charley noticed her a moment later. Abandoning the firearm, he raised his hands and held up a rag that might once have been white. "You said the guns needed cleaning."

"I was joking."

"Hard to tell with you."

"You went through my stuff?"

"I went to the bathroom earlier, you were out of soap. I looked for more and found this," he indicated the rifle, "under the sink."

Annoyed, Sarah glanced back down the hallway. "I told Ellison to put that in the kitchen."

"The shotgun's in the kitchen, found it when I found the hand soap."

"And I suppose you refilled the dispenser." She was going for angry and it shouldn't be difficult, but it was. Acknowledging her failure Sarah stepped further into the room.

Leaving the gun and supplies on the dresser, he joined her as she perched on the bed. "I didn't want to interrupt your nap, but I needed to do something."

"I don't nap," Sarah argued, somewhat defensively. "I was resting my eyes."

"Does it make you sad that you're stealing excuses from the 6-year-old you were napping with?"

"She napped, I rested my eyes. What about Buddy, isn't he going to need some attention?"

"I already let him out and refilled his food and water." Genuinely amused by her look of surprise, Charley held out his watch hand. "You were resting those eyes for quite awhile."

Sarah took hold of his hand, unable to believe what she was seeing. "I was out that long?"

"Maybe you needed to be. Feeling okay?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, dropping Charley's hand and staring at a point over his shoulder.

Charley studied her intently, unsure what to make of the expression on her face. "Seriously, you all right?"

Blinking as if from a daze, Sarah refocused on him. "Yeah. Woke up and felt like I was in another life."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked gently.

It wouldn't be if that life had ever really existed, if it ever could. "Not as bad as those kiddie reruns you subjected me to."

Charley smiled. He'd known she would love that one. "Why do you think I'm trying to teach her about the boat? Anything to keep that remote out of her hands."

"Speaking of, I appreciate you siccing the kid on me like that."

"Learned from the best."

A pause. "She thought I was mad at her?"

Charley shrugged. "I tried, she needed to hear it from you. What did you expect, Sarah?" When she didn't answer, he pressed on. "You can't have it both ways."

"I know," she admitted.

"She's not going to understand."

"I know."

Sighing, Charley ran a hand through his hair, buying time to choose his words. "I keep telling you, we're in this. All of us. You can't…you can't tell me and Savannah to run off somewhere and pretend that nothing's happening. And if those things are after her-"

"I _know_, Charley. It's…everything's so much harder than it was."

"When it was just you and John."

Sarah nodded, knowing she was saying too much yet unable to stop herself. "Even with Derek and the metal…it was easier in some ways."

Charley's face clouded over. He knew damn well that he wasn't much good to her. He was a babysitter, a cleanup guy. Kyle Reese was John's father, Sarah's hero. And despite her issues with him, Derek was still a soldier, an asset to her mission. Charley was a liability, she'd all but told him as much on more than one occasion. He'd seen all the cuts and bruises. She was getting sloppy and self-destructive without John as an anchor, and Charley couldn't even stop that from happening.

"Charley? What's wrong?"

She rarely spoke to him in that tone, without the barriers. Charley wished he could enjoy it, then he remembered Michelle and got angry at himself for thinking that way. "Nothing," he said as normally as possible. "So you told Savannah her lessons were resuming?"

"You were eavesdropping?"

Charley shook his head and grinned a little. "Psychic streak."

"Look, I know that my being there-"

"Stop. You know what's important, we both do. She needs to be safe; you'll teach her to be safe."

Sarah's lips turned up in bemusement. "We made a deal. She found out that I need Ellison for even the basic computer stuff, and she's going to try fixing that. I think it makes her feel important, the idea of switching roles."

Charley laughed at the notion of Sarah getting computer tutorials from a first-grader. She glared at him for real this time and he eventually stopped laughing. "Well after Savannah teaches you how to Google, maybe you could teach _me _something."

"Oh?" Sarah responded, eyebrows raised.

"Are we agreed that you can't hide me away from this anymore?"

Sarah couldn't answer immediately. "Yes."

Charley nodded his satisfaction. "Good. I want to know more, Sarah, I want to be able to do more" _Needed _to, if he and Savannah were going to stay alive.

Sarah frowned. "You're asking me for training."

"I don't expect to become you. Or Derek. Or…or Kyle. But I need something better than run and hide and shoot."

"There isn't anything better. For one of those things, there's nothing more to do."

"Uh-huh. All those guns you've got stashed, would they even help, really?"

"Might buy a few seconds. And they make me feel better."

"Right. And these people, Kaliba, they _are _people. There are other kinds of threats, besides the machines."

As if she needed the reminder. "Charley…"

"Sarah…I can't do this anymore. I can't sit out on that beach with Savannah and just wait. I need to do something. I need to at least _feel _like I'm doing something. Like I've got a chance of making it when something _does _happen."

Sarah looked at him for a long moment. She'd tried separating him from all this, and then she brought Savannah to his door. She'd brought Charley back in, even though he claimed never to have left. She'd been clinging to her memories of him, memories made as Sarah Reese. But that woman had never truly existed, and now her fiancé didn't either. The Charley who proposed to her was not the man sitting in front of her. He'd been changed, tainted by all this, and Sarah couldn't fix that. Nor could she continue to live in the past. Besides, anything that would allow Charley to better defend himself…

"Okay," she said finally. "Tomorrow we start basic hand-to-hand."

"Tomorrow? Sarah, the wound-"

"It'll be fine," she interrupted, a hint of steel in her voice. "I said basic, I won't be moving that much."

"I don't want you getting hurt."

Sarah smirked. "Charley," she drawled. "Injured or not, if you can get anywhere close to hurting me, then we really are screwed."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Hey all. First off, my apologies. This morning, for an hour or so, the last chapter wasn't really up. I went to fix a few things in another section and due to the unusually large amount of writing I've done in the last month, I accidentally uploaded the wrong file to the wrong place. It's all good now, so if you were confused before, click back a page and see what's what. Early morning edits do not mix well with my pathetically short attention span.

Next, an amendment to a previous statement. Actually, several previous statements. Like everything else I've penned recently, this is going to end up being longer than I originally intended. Not novel-length, but still longer than I planned. If you're enjoying the ride, I guess that's a good thing. If you're not, then you're probably not even reading this, so why am I addressing you? I do now have a very clear idea of what the ending will be, and that wasn't the case at first. So there's a destination, and since I'm writing at (for me) an insanely fast pace, hopefully it won't take too long to get there.

Fanatical watchers may notice that I've taken some liberties with Charley's property. His beach and backyard in the show were too small for my purposes, so I did some expanding. I've already taken creative license with the whole Charley not being dead thing, so I figured it was okay.

As always, a big thank you to those who reviewed, and a shameless plea to those who haven't. Please review. I'll be spending the next three days doing my best to hide from tiresome relatives with the excuse that I have lots of actual work to do. Hopefully my lying and seclusion will lead to another quick update. Until then, adieu, goodbye, there is no fate but what we make, and so on.

* * *

><p>Sarah was true to her word. The next day, after token objections from Charley, they started hand-to-hand training. Sarah was also right about the wound not being an issue. She was still recovering, still weaker than usual. And she still kicked his ass again and again, without effort, without having to move much at all.<p>

The moves she taught were indeed basic, but that didn't make them useless. As days turned into weeks, Charley improved steadily. He had lots of time to practice after Sarah left, even with all the responsibility of caring for Savannah.

The girl meanwhile was relatively happy. Aunt Sarah was back to teaching her, and things didn't seem as bad anymore with the adults. The silences continued, as did the heavy glances that Savannah couldn't comprehend. However, those things didn't happen quite as much. Better yet, neither of them seemed quite as sad anymore. For the first time, Savannah truly believed Aunt Sarah's words about how she and Uncle Charley were friends.

That didn't mean things were perfect. Friends fought. Charley said that to the girl every time he argued with Sarah. When Sarah first started teaching her things, Charley stayed away as much as possible. He went outside to work on the boat while Sarah went about her business. It was easier that way, on several different levels. At first, Charley honestly couldn't be around her for more than a few minutes, and he suspected the feeling was mutual. That wasn't so much of an issue anymore, and neither was the other thing. Charley used to be a distraction. He'd come in and Savannah's eyes would light up, and anything Sarah said, no matter the importance, would fall on deaf ears. Savannah was doing a better job of focusing, of hearing what she needed to hear. Sarah was reminded of John, of John and Cameron both asserting that he always heard his mother, always listened.

Savannah's growing ability to tune out distractions meant that Charley could observe Sarah's lessons without interrupting them. He watched Savannah's impossibly wide grin at the slightest bit of praise from her instructor, and that made him smile. He also watched what Sarah was teaching the child, and certain things made him glare. They did their best to send the kid away before a fight, but Savannah was not stupid. She quickly learned that 'Go play in your room' or 'Go play outside for awhile' could be said in many different ways, with many different inflections. She didn't need Sarah's tense and wordless departures or Charley's scowls of frustration to know when it got bad between them.

Despite all that, things were better. Charley set up a homeschooling program from research he'd done online. When Savannah wasn't learning from one or the other adult, she taught Sarah computer stuff. Charley wasn't allowed to stay in the room for that part. Her technological stupidity was too much to take without smirking, and Sarah got enough 'How could anyone not know this' stares from the child who was tutoring her. Savannah's looks of incredulity reminded her of looks from John, expressions that used to irritate the hell out of her, but probably wouldn't anymore. If she ever saw him again.

* * *

><p>Charley went down hard, grateful for the soft beach they used as a training ground. Wincing, he gingerly rotated his arm. Unbidden, a memory of John took over. John, when he came to the house, right after the news broadcast. That move John used to subdue him and get away, Charley had just been forcibly reacquainted with it. Sarah was pulling her punches, he knew that. She always held herself back until he had a decent grasp on whatever maneuver they were working on. Then she'd let loose a bit and order Savannah to have the ice packs ready. They were in the beginning stages of this move, so she was holding back, even though it didn't feel that way.<p>

"You were supposed to block," she informed him, reaching out a hand. Tone aside, Sarah was pleased with his progress. Charley wasn't a soldier, probably never would be. He wasn't Derek or Kyle, but he was getting better and Sarah was pleased. He learned faster than she would've guessed. The biggest problem had been getting him to stop pulling punches with her, and after too many bruises and too many comments from Savannah about how he was walking funny, he'd stopped pulling the blows.

"Was I?" Charley asked, taking her hand and pulling himself up. "Is that what I was supposed to do? Well, the idea _did _cross my mind."

Sarah shook her head. There was irritation in his voice, but at least some of it was feigned. Playfulness had no place here, so she kicked out. Charley dodged, but did it awkwardly, nearly falling again. Sarah was pleasantly surprised, having fully expected to bring his feet out from under him. "Smooth," she drawled.

"I dodged," Charley pointed out, once he was sure of his footing.

"You dodged," Sarah nodded. "Congratulations."

A giggle from behind him cut off any retort Charley might've had. Turning, he saw Savannah near the back door, clutching her stuffed giraffe and continuing to chuckle. "Think that's funny do you?"

"No," Savannah refuted before bursting into giggles again, trying to hide her face behind the toy.

Rolling his eyes, Charley looked back at Sarah. The brunette was attempting, without complete success, to keep a straight face. "It's a good thing I'm not insecure, or we might have a problem here."

"Aunt Sarah beat you," Savannah observed, voice carrying across the beach. "Again."

"Yes, she did. And you think that's funny, huh?"

"No," Savannah repeated, still giggling.

Moving away from Sarah, Charley went towards the house, his steps exaggerated. Then he stopped, holding his arms out beside him and inserting false menace into his voice. "Why don't you come down here and laugh at me?"

He didn't expect her to comply. They'd played this game before, and the rules were pretty much set. Charley faked anger and pretended to go after her, she ran. It wasn't original, but it was something between them, a routine that made both participants smile. Used to this routine, Charley was mildly surprised when Savannah responded to his taunt. She walked towards him with an easy confidence and a grin that threatened to split her face.

"Hi," she greeted, crossing her arms loosely while still holding her giraffe.

"Hi," Charley mimicked, crossing his own arms and nodding at the toy. "You and your friend there enjoying the show?"

"Yes," she admitted, head bobbing up and down.

"I see," Charley deadpanned. In a flash, he grabbed the toy, stepping back a few paces. "How about now?" he asked, running his fingers across the stuffed neck. "He enjoying himself now?"

"Yes," Savannah replied. Ducking under Charley's arm, she ran towards Sarah, feinting left as Charley made a grab for her. Dodging a second attempt, the girl made it to relative safety, using Sarah's body as a shield. She was glad the woman had taught her how to do this, despite some initial skepticism.

"_What are we learning today?"_

"_Running, we're learning how to run."_

"_Running? I know how to _run_. I was best in my class at Duck Duck Goose."_

"_This is different from Duck Duck Goose. I'm going to teach you how to run properly."_

She had, and now Charley was jogging towards them with Savannah's toy in one hand, while the girl herself peeked out from behind Sarah's leg. "You're a little brat, you know that?" he asked upon reaching them.

"Am not, I'm just smart."

Shrugging, Charley spread his arms helplessly, looking to Sarah for help.

"You _are _a brat," Sarah told her, reaching back as if to move Savannah into the open "And I don't remember volunteering to play human shield."

"No!" Savannah giggled, clinging tighter to Sarah's legs. "Don't!"

"Chicken," Charley teased, feigning another grab.

Savannah didn't flinch, knowing the ruse for what it was. "You can't get me," she taunted, peeking out at Charley again. "You can't get me because you won't touch Aunt Sarah."

The adults had been smiling up to this point, Sarah, in spite of herself. They locked eyes and something shifted, and their smiles faded. "No," Charley said slowly. "No, I won't do that."

Sarah could feel the girl trembling behind her, too happily excited to notice the change in mood. Taking a breath, Sarah reached back and did her best to maintain a playful tone. "You've got three seconds to surrender. I spend enough time caught in the crossfire.

"Trade?" Charley suggested. He too was doing his best to maintain appearances.

Sarah started to move and the kid grabbed hold of her again. "Tell him to give me my toy first," Savannah ordered.

"Give her the toy first."

It would've been simple, except that Savannah refused to move, refused to reach out. Charley was forced to pass the toy to Sarah, trying not to react as their fingers brushed together. Sarah passed the toy to Savannah, glad the child couldn't see her face. Savannah released her hold and Sarah stepped sideways, playfully shoving her into Charley's arms.

Grinning, Savannah held tight to her giraffe as Charley put his hands over her shoulders. "Can we have lunch now?" she asked.

"Sure," Charley replied. They'd postponed the meal because of Sarah's arrival. She came as often as she could, but never at the same time. Also, she didn't call. If they were in the middle of something when she arrived, that something got dropped. That part irked him, even though he'd wanted her to resume the lessons, even knowing there was a method to her madness. The way Sarah chose to arrive was a lesson unto itself. There were no constants, no schedules. You _had _to be ready to drop everything. Comfort and happiness could be gone in an instant, and you had to behave with that in mind.

"Are you going to eat with us?" Savannah asked, leading the adults back towards the house and swinging her giraffe as she went.

Sarah walked next to Charley without looking at him. "Maybe some other time, I've got things to do."

"You're welcome to stay," said Charley, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

The offer didn't sound as awkward and forced as it could have, Sarah gave credit for that. "Thank you, not today."

"Uncle Charley's making Mexican," Savannah persisted as she entered the kitchen, blissfully ignorant of the tension behind her. "I've never had Mexican before."

"No?" Sarah asked. Weaver probably had the kid's diet all mapped out, rotating the same menu over and over, with no variations. Savannah's reply confirmed what'd only been a guess on Sarah's part.

"No. Mommy…new Mommy…she had the cook make the same stuff all the time. It was boring."

"I bet."

"You should stay," the girl persisted, taking a seat at the kitchen table and placing the giraffe there as well. "Uncle Charley bought lots of food."

"I stopped at that little stand down the road," said Charley, beginning to pull things from the fridge. "Got all the best stuff, authentic Mexican food." She wouldn't stay, and he didn't think he wanted her to, but Savannah was here and they had to maintain appearances.

"That's not authentic," Sarah countered, keeping a casual tone as she leaned against the table. "That place doesn't sell the real deal."

"How would you know, you try anything there?" He doubted it. She wouldn't waste the time to stop, and she was still so damn thin. Powerful yes, but thin.

"I've driven past it, it's not real Mexican."

"And you can tell just by looking." As he talked, Charley pulled a bag of tortilla chips from the cabinet and grabbed a jar of salsa.

"Yes," Sarah confirmed. "I can tell. Just by looking."

"Yeah well, try a bit of this." Tearing open the bag and twisting the lid from the jar, Charley placed both items by Sarah on the table. "Had some earlier, took half a loaf of bread for my tongue to stop burning."

"It was funny," remarked Savannah, remembering the look on Charley's face.

"I'm just a barrel of laughs for you aren't I?" Charley teased, cuffing her lightly on the head. He watched Sarah grab a chip and dunk it into the red mixture before popping it in her mouth. "Well?"

"Not bad," Sarah pronounced. She showed no reaction to salsa which, according to the jar, was so hot only an idiota would try it. "Not real, but not bad."

Charley guessed he shouldn't have been surprised. Savannah began accusing him of lying about the food being real Mexican, and before he could stop himself, "Well, you're the expert, prove it. Bring over the real thing next time you stop by."

* * *

><p>A week later, Sarah complied. It was a stupid move and she knew it, playing the family thing with Charley. But Savannah wouldn't let it go. To Sarah, the girl displayed the persistence of a terminator. Charley saw it differently, saw what Sarah was unable or unwilling to recognize.<p>

They ate after training was done for the day. Sarah stretched it out, and Charley knew the kid was starving, but Savannah didn't complain. The girl went from one extreme to the other. Some days, she turned inward and hid in her room and barely spoke to him. Others, she was a ball of energy, and he could almost forget what she'd been through. Tonight was good, Savannah laughed and smiled and babbled on to Sarah about everything she'd done since they last spoke. She loved the food and repeatedly told Sarah as much. Charley thought the brunette could've shown up with crackers and club soda and gotten the same result.

"Can't get food like this in Nebraska. Who's your source?" Charley was enjoying himself. He shouldn't be, but he was. Even with Savannah, the loneliness could get bad, and it was nice setting a table for three again.

"My source is _my_ source," Sarah replied, swallowing a forkful of rice. "She won't sell to you."

Charley raised an eyebrow and bit into a taco. "Why?" he asked, once his mouth was clear. "Because I'm a gringo?"

"Yes," Sarah replied.

"And this rule doesn't apply to you?"

"No."

"All right, that explains it."

"To Rosa, I'm not a gringo anymore. You earn your way out of the title."

"Do I want to know how?"

"Probably not." Glancing to her right, she watched Savannah struggle to keep the contents of an enormous burrito from ending up on Charley's floor. "Next week we work on hand/eye coordination," Sarah quipped.

"You're coming over next week? That's great!"

Sarah tried not to wince at the enthusiasm, or at the hole she'd just dug herself. "I don't…we'll see, Savannah."

The kid set down her food and stared at the napkin on her lap. "You've got things to do," she stated miserably. Then, raising her eyes, "What kinds of things?"

Sarah looked at Charley, who leaned back and offered no assistance. Despite her acknowledgement that he had a role to play in all this, Sarah refused to bring him into the loop. She wouldn't give him specifics of what she was doing, where she was going, how the all-important mission was coming along. It bothered him, this lack of information, increased the feelings of seclusion. He wasn't expecting to join the team, not in the way Derek Reese had once bitingly suggested. But with Savannah's future, the future of the whole damn world riding on Sarah's actions, he would've liked to know _something_ of what she was up to.

"Why don't you take some guacamole?" Sarah said after it was clear that Charley wouldn't help.

Savannah made a face at the green mixture, pushing the bowl away. "It looks yucky."

"It's not."

"It looks that way," Savannah persisted. There was a bag of tortilla chips in front of her and she took a few, setting them on her plate. Then she reached for the bowl of salsa in the middle of the table.

"Uh-uh." Snagging the bowl before Savannah could get at it, Sarah shook her head no.

"But I want to try."

"Try the guacamole." The girl had never tasted a batch of hot salsa in her life, and it'd taken Sarah a month before she could eat more than three bites of this stuff without tearing up.

"Please?"

"Savannah," Charley began.

"Fine," Sarah interrupted, pushing the bowl to within Savannah's reach.

"Sarah-"

"Charley."

Charley fell silent. Savannah dunked her chip into the bowl and then popped it in her mouth. For a moment, there was no reaction. Then Savannah's cheeks changed color, turning a shade of red that closely matched her hair. Charley held back a smile as he watched the kid blink rapidly before moving her eyes towards the kitchen sink.

"Water only makes it worse," said Sarah, following the girl's eye line. She gave Savannah credit though. Her face might look completely ridiculous right now, but the kid wasn't panting, wasn't letting out exclamations of shock. "You okay?"

Savannah nodded mutely. She did not look okay.

Exchanging amused glances with Sarah, Charley hurriedly picked up Savannah's empty glass and went to the fridge. Filling it with milk, he passed her the glass and sat down again.

Sarah waited five seconds, noting the way Savannah's eyes stayed locked on the glass. She waited, and then she realized the game, the rules Savannah had created for it. Lifting her own drink, Sarah raised it in Charley's direction. "Happy Cinco de Mayo?"

"Cheers," he said with a grin, even though May was long over. He drank and so did Sarah, and because of Sarah, Savannah allowed herself to give in. She drained the glass in one long gulp and this time it was Sarah who refilled it.

"Next time," she said, putting the milk and some hastily procured bread slices in front of Savannah, "you listen if I tell you not to do something."

* * *

><p>"She's going to throw up."<p>

"No she won't," Charley argued. He was on the beach with Sarah again, but they weren't sparring this time. They were on the sand together, watching the sun blink red and orange against the ocean. Dinner was over, it would be night soon, and Sarah kept saying she needed to leave. Instead, she was next to him, watching Savannah throw Buddy's toys into the ocean. "But that dog is going to smell like wet dog, and he's going to jump in her bed, and then Savannah and the sheets and Buddy are all going to smell like wet dog. That won't be fun."

"I imagine not. All that running doesn't seem to be tiring her out."

"You're the one who got her hopped up on sugar," said Charley, thinking of the three churros Savannah wolfed down and hoping Sarah was wrong about the puking.

They fell silent, waving to Savannah as the girl demanded their attention. She threw a ball at the dog for roughly the twentieth time, and Buddy caught it again, just as he had all those other times. Savannah shrieked with the same joy she'd shown all along, then tore off down the beach with Buddy on her heels. It was the same show, over and over. Charley could watch all night, but wondered if Sarah was getting bored. Shifting to look at her, Charley was stunned by what he saw. She looked amazing in that moment. Remnants of the sun played beautifully against her face, hiding the paleness he sometimes saw there. She was watching Savannah's antics with a sort of rapt calm. Her lips quirked upward, Sarah appeared almost serene. It was a look Charley hadn't seen before. Not even in Nebraska, before she left. He wished the cell phone wasn't sitting in the living room somewhere. He wished that he got more calls, so he'd have reason to bring the phone out here. Charley wanted a camera in that moment, wanted to capture it forever. He'd never, ever seen that look on Sarah's face, and didn't know if he would again.

"You're staring at me," Sarah stated without looking away from Savannah.

She didn't sound especially irritated, but Charley looked away anyway, watching the dog run ahead of Savannah. "You've got sand in your hair."

She didn't and she knew that, and Charley's joke wasn't even funny. Sarah chuckled anyway, letting her eyes drift from Savannah and the dog, out towards the horizon. "John and I lived in a cabana on the beach for awhile, in Mexico."

Charley sucked in a silent breath. She didn't talk about John. He _usually_ avoided talking about John, but Sarah _never _brought the subject up. "Must've been nice," he said, trying to keep his feelings out of his voice.

"Was," she confirmed, sounding a little distant. "He was happy there, I think." Sarah did her best _not _to think about the more recent trip to Mexico. About Riley, poor, stupid Riley. And Cromartie.

Glancing over, Charley saw her expression darken. "Were you?" he asked. "Happy?"

She shrugged, gaze still locked on the ocean. "I liked watching John be happy. We swam in the ocean every day, he built sandcastles. The sunsets were beautiful."

"Better than this?"

"No comparison. Not that I'm complaining about this one."

Charley nodded to himself. Sunset with John, sunset without, he supposed there really _could _be no comparison. "It's nice here though."

Sarah made an agreeable sort of noise. Her right hand rested in the sand, next to one of his. There was space between them, but not as much as before, when they could barely stand to face each other across a room.

"Nights like this, sunsets like this, you can almost forget," Charley mused. "About everything."

Sarah tensed up and went still. Turning her head for the first time in awhile, she looked at the space between them, saw how close their hands were. Then she closed her eyes and looked away.

Charley followed her gaze. Their fingers were almost touching and his wedding band was glinting in the sun. Suddenly Charley remembered. Michelle. There'd been so many places like this with Michelle, so many beaches. Dates, their honeymoon, anniversaries. He'd asked her about a beach when she was kidnapped, to confirm her identity. Charley pulled his hand up, clenching it on his knee and closing his eyes. He felt sick to his stomach and wished he hadn't taken so much at dinner. Just _thinking _about dinner made him sick. Sarah's voice was loud in his ear, and that didn't help things.

"Savannah! Come back up here!"

Charley opened his eyes to find the girl somewhere she wasn't supposed to be. She was far off along the beach and very close to the switch. Savannah did as she was told, knowing better than to argue with that tone. She hurried back towards them, Buddy trotting along several paces ahead.

"You told her about the switch?"

"Of course," Charley snapped.

"She knows to stay away?"

"I'm not stupid, Sarah." Savannah had been close to the switch. The switch that would blow the beach to nothing, activate the explosives they were sitting on.

"No," Sarah said after a moment. "But you forget things, don't you? And so does she."

"I don't forget the important stuff." Except he did. He'd forgotten where he was, why he was there in the first place. This whole damn night, he'd somehow forgotten that he was with Sarah Connor. He'd forgotten about the explosives, about why they were there, everything.

"No," Sarah argued, voice cold as she refuted Charley's claim. "You forget, you both do. You try, but you still forget."

"And you don't, you're infallible?"

"I don't," Sarah lied. She always forgot around them, always. Dinner was a mistake and she'd known it and she'd come here anyway. There wouldn't be any more mistakes. "I don't forget. I didn't forget in Mexico, and I wasn't happy. Every day, I'd stare off into the ocean waiting. Waiting for what I knew was coming. What's still coming."

"I know what's coming, Sarah. Experience, remember?" Charley continued to clench his left hand against his kneecap. Incongruously, his wedding ring felt tight and heavy, like it could cut off the circulation to his hand.

"Experience. Not compared to mine." Sarah got to her feet.

Charley stood up. Did she want a medal because she'd lost more? Was his loss that insignificant to her? "It's getting late, you should go."

"I should," Sarah confirmed as Buddy loped over to her, nuzzling at her hand. "Keep Savannah away from that switch, don't forget."

"Yeah," Charley replied in a voice that wasn't his. "Thanks for dinner."

"Yeah."

As the sun fell away and darkness came in its place, Charley watched her leave, barely hearing Savannah's approach, or her questions about what was wrong between him and Aunt Sarah.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Now that we've had our dose of sickeningly sweet family fun, it's time to resume our regularly scheduled angst. Fair warning. At this point, I blatantly steal/twist situations/dialogue from 'To the Lighthouse.' On one hand, that episode kicks off the part of the series where I get very, very sad for many, many reasons. On the other hand, I have a great deal of affection for the episode itself, and especially the scene I've chosen to rework/rip off. That said, reviews are good, virtual crickets are bad, and I hope you all enjoy reading.

* * *

><p>Savannah wasn't sure what happened that night. She'd been happy, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Charley seemed like they were happy. Savannah couldn't remember the last time things had felt that simple and comfortable. Certainly, it was before her father died, before her mother stopped acting like her mother. Things had seemed good that night. The adults smiled and laughed much more than usual, and Savannah felt god. Safe. Then Aunt Sarah was gone again and Uncle Charley was angry and sad.<p>

This felt different from all the other fights they tried hiding from her, and Savannah had worried that things would be as they used to, before Sarah got hurt. She worried about not seeing Aunt Sarah again, at least not for awhile. Those worries were unfounded. Sarah kept coming, kept teaching. However, in another way, things _were _just as they'd been before. Curt nods replaced greetings that'd once been pleasant. Uncle Charley went back to avoiding Aunt Sarah as much as possible. Because he wasn't around to question her methods, they argued less. Savannah didn't know why, but she actually preferred the raised voices, the clipped exchanges. She couldn't understand why arguments would seem better than silence, but that was how she felt.

A few weeks after her misguided attempt at normality, Sarah returned to the lighthouse for another round of training. In those few weeks, her efforts had been focused almost fully on Savannah. She and Charley still engaged in the self-defense lessons, but not nearly as often. Sarah knew that had to change if Charley was to improve or even maintain his skills. She'd made a half-hearted attempt at saying this once, and he'd brushed her off. Sarah did her best not to care that they'd regressed back to an inability to touch each other.

She let herself in, surprised at the lack of a welcoming party. Buddy or Savannah were almost always there within 30 seconds of her arrival, both excited to have a visitor. Charley usually followed at a more sedate pace. They'd exchange false pleasantries for the child's sake, and then he'd find an excuse to leave. Tonight, the main room was empty and there was no welcoming committee. Sarah experienced an irrational moment of fear, not used to the place being silent. Then she heard voices from the direction of Savannah's room and lost the urge to pull her gun. Letting her eyes roam, Sarah noticed a pot on the stove and a soup can on the counter. Also, there was a pillow on the couch, and a blanket that normally covered one of the weapon trunks was draped over a chair.

She met Charley as he came out of Savannah's room. Behind him, Sarah could see the girl propped up in bed with a children's book in her hands and a glass of orange juice on her nightstand. The dog was stationed at the foot of her bed, and Sarah could tell from looking at the sheets that Charley had been lying next to the Savannah.

"I was going to call you," he said coolly. "Tell you not to come."

For awhile, he thought the anger was done. Things had been getting so much better. Because intellectually, Charley truly did not blame her for what his life had turned into He _did_ blame her for Michelle, but not the way she thought. If Sarah had told him the truth in the first place, there never would've _been _a Michelle. He wouldn't have needed or wanted anyone else, wouldn't have fallen for Michelle. She wouldn't have been involved in any of this, and he wouldn't have lost her. So Charley did hold Sarah responsible. He blamed her, but the joke of it was that he couldn't even hold on to that blame the way he should've been able to, not after spending time with her again, watching her struggle to live in a world without John. He couldn't keep all the anger focused on her, so he turned it inward. The beach was a wakeup call. A reminder of what he was doing. Imagining a life with Sarah Connor, _wanting _a life with Sarah Connor. That was where the anger came in. It wasn't just that he was disrespecting Michelle's memory in the worst possible way. He'd disrespected his wife even while she was alive. He'd gone behind her back, he'd lied.

"_I don't love her anymore, babe. Not like that."_

He'd said that to Michelle. He told John's uncle that he loved his wife. That wasn't a lie. Charley had loved Michelle, with all his heart. The joke, the sick, disgusting joke of it was that somehow, he'd loved Sarah more. Charley hated himself for that, hated _Sarah _for having such a hold on him, even as she did her best to push him away.

"Aunt Sarah?"

The girl's voice was rough. Looking away from Charley's cold expression, Sarah noted the hint of sweat on Savannah's brow, saw the flush in her cheeks. The rest of her skin looked unnaturally pale and Sarah frowned in concern. "She's sick?"

Without his consent, some of Charley's anger bled out. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Nothing major, she's going to be fine. She just won't feel that way for a couple days."

"Aunt Sarah."

The tiny voice was more insistent this time and Charley had no choice but to step away from the door and let Sarah through. He muttered an excuse as she passed and Sarah nodded acknowledgement without looking him in the eye.

"Not feeling well?" she asked seating herself on the edge of the bed. Buddy gave a friendly sort of bark and Sarah felt strangely grateful. His master might be pissed as hell, but at least the dog still liked her.

"I'm not sick," Savannah refuted. The words were half-defiant, half-pleading.

Sarah made a noncommittal humming sound, resting her hand on Savannah's forehead. "Charley says you are."

"I was, I'm better now." She was warm and Aunt Sarah's touch was cool and comforting, and Savannah grew slightly desperate as the brunette frowned and took her hand away. "I'm not sick. We can learn stuff, just like always. I'll teach you more computer things."

Sarah's lips quirked upward. "Much as I look forward to learning about singing cats on Youtube, I think we can wait on that."

"Well then you can teach _me_ stuff," Savannah pressed. "Or, we don't have to learn at all, you can just stay."

Sarah closed her eyes. No, she couldn't do that. Savannah didn't want her to leave, but she couldn't 'just stay.' She'd done that weeks ago, and the lesson was learned. Sarah touched the girl's cheek, moving red hair out of her eyes. "You tired?"

"No. I slept a lot already; Uncle Charley made me stay in bed."

Nodding, Sarah considered her options. Savannah was warm, but not too warm. Examining the girl critically one last time, Sarah steeled herself for another fight.

* * *

><p>"Enough," Charley declared, arms crossed over his chest. "Sweetie, say goodnight to Aunt Sarah, we're getting you into bed."<p>

"But we're not finished yet," Savannah argued. Blurry-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, she sat on the floor with Sarah behind her. They were working on a model together, the kind of thing John Henry used to play with. Aunt Sarah had winced when Savannah brought that up, but otherwise there'd been no reaction.

Charley's interruption caused the girl to drop the tiny piece she'd been trying to place. Sarah picked it up and put it back in Savannah's hand. She hadn't been joking about improving the child's coordination. These toy models were complicated and meant for much older kids, boys. Sarah also loathed the notion that she and Weaver had similar training methods. However, physical stuff was out of the question for now Savannah was too young, never mind the touch of illness. But there were other ways to teach, and John had always liked the models.

"You can finish some other time," said Charley, working hard to stay calm. He'd been against this from the start but, as usual, Sarah had steamrolled over his objections. It was past Savannah's bedtime and the girl could barely keep her eyes open. Sarah's gentle prods were the only thing keeping her awake.

"No. We have to keep going."

Charley was rapidly losing patience. Keep going, keep trying, keep trying until we get it right. That's what Sarah kept telling the girl, even though Savannah kept rubbing her eyes and forehead whenever she thought Sarah wouldn't notice. She had a headache, Charley knew, and that hadn't been part of the earlier symptoms. Fighting off his own headache, he looked to Sarah for help.

Sarah took a breath. It'd been hard enough getting Charley to sanction this in the first place. Fighting with him was so much more draining than fighting with Derek. Even Cameron hadn't been this difficult. Savannah was sitting up against her, and Sarah knew the girl was tired. Sarah was tired as well. Putting that aside, she prepped herself for round two with Charley. "We're almost finished."

"No, you _are _finished. Savannah, go to your room, I'll be there in a minute." Sarah's eyes flashed and he ignored them. Savannah kept looking from him to Sarah and back again. Charley couldn't help seething a little. They shouldn't be engaging in a power struggle over the girl, but Sarah shouldn't be doing this either, and he was sick of constantly being overruled. "Go on," he said firmly.

Reluctantly, Savannah listened. Sarah helped her to her feet and got up herself, doing her best to ignore Charley's scrutiny. "You did great," she praised, hoping her voice sounded warmer to the kid's ears than it did to hers.

"Will you come back tomorrow, so we can finish?"

Sarah tried not to grimace. "Not tomorrow. Why don't you try on your own for awhile?"

Savannah hesitated. She didn't want to disappoint Aunt Sarah, but the model was so complicated, some of the pieces were almost impossible to grasp, and after a point, they all started to look the same. "I can't do it by myself," she admitted, staring at the floor.

Sarah knelt down, brushing Savannah's bangs out of the way and urging her to look up. "Lots of things I do now, I didn't think I could do on my own. Try working on it by yourself tomorrow."

"But what if I do something wrong?"

"If you make mistakes, you make mistakes. I'll come back soon and we'll fix them together. We'll keep trying until we get it right."

That seemed to be enough. Savannah hugged the woman quickly, and Sarah's return of the gesture wasn't as awkward as it could've been, as it sometimes was. The redhead went to her room and shut the door, giving the adults their cue to face off.

"You shouldn't have contradicted me."

"I shouldn't…are you kidding? You left her on _my _doorstep, Sarah. If you wanted to do this," he indicated the model on the floor, "you should've taken her yourself."

"You were the one who wanted me to come back. You agreed that I knew how to keep her safe. Now you're saying that's not what you want."

" I'm saying I don't see the connection between keeping a sick child up all night, and keeping that child safe."

"She's not that sick, you said it yourself." It sounded cold, but Sarah couldn't afford to care. She couldn't afford to let the coughs and shivers that ran through Savannah's body make a difference.

"Maybe not, but I can pretty much guarantee she's going to be sicker in the morning because of this." Of course, Sarah wouldn't have to deal with that. She hadn't been here last night or all of today, when Savannah really _had _been sick. She wasn't here for the nightmares or the sudden bouts of crying. Sarah could come and go as needed, never dealing with the effects she had on their lives.

Charley was right. Keeping Savannah up and out of bed wouldn't do her any favors tomorrow. Not taking advantage of every opportunity to train her, that would be worse. "I already told you I won't be here tomorrow. She'll be sick a little longer, she'll sleep in, she'll be better. Might as well take advantage now, because she's not going to have that luxury for very long. You think the machines are going to call time out because she's having an off day? You get sick, you get hurt, you tough it out. Savannah seems to get that better than you do."

"Savannah would tell you anything, _anything_, if she thought you wanted to hear it. If you don't get that, Sarah, then you really shouldn't talk to me about what _I _don't understand."

Sarah did get that, she did understand about the kid idolizing her. It didn't change anything. "We don't have much time, Charley. I don't have time to wait for when it's convenient for her to learn. And you know she isn'tthat sick."

He did know. In his head, he knew that everything Sarah said was right. He also knew why she'd left him 8 years ago. Intellectual understanding didn't necessarily equal emotional understanding. Tired and frustrated, Charley could do nothing but glare at her.

"She's _not _that sick," Sarah repeated, unsure why she was even bothering with the justification. "John's worked through worse. When he was younger-"

"Savannah isn't John." Charley's words lingered in the air, thick and heavy between them. He saw in her face that he'd struck a blow, knew that he should stop. He couldn't. Months of tension and confusion had him working like a terminator, striking while his opponent was down. "She's not John, and she's not you."

Sarah swallowed hard. "You don't think I know that? You honestly think I don't know that?"

"I think you forget sometimes. You say I'm the only one, but I still think you forget sometimes."

"Well you're wrong. And even if you weren't, she needs this. She'll need to be like me, like John, to survive. Don't think I'm happy about it, I'm not. But that's the reality, that's what you wanted in on, so don't you come to me now and ask for something different." She couldn't give it to him, there was nothing else to offer, and if Charley didn't yet understand that…

Charley studied her intently. Something was different, something had changed. "You don't think we have a chance, do you? At first, you talked about stopping it, preventing all this. Now it's all about preparing."

"It's always been preparing. That's what it's been since before John was born."

"No. You prepared for the worst case scenario, but you kept talking about prevention. You told me, you told Savannah…you told _John _that you'd stop it."

Sarah looked away, backing down for a split second. She'd thought it was only the children who bought into her lies, into the reassurances she had no right to give. Charley hadn't believed what the FBI said about her past. He'd always had too much faith in her. "What do you want me to say, Charley? What is it that you want to hear? You want an explanation, am I supposed to lay it all out in a way that makes sense? Because I can't. Reese explained it to me, he's been dead 25 years, and still, none of this makes sense to me."

"I want the truth, Sarah. For once, just talk to me, tell me the truth."

"You got the truth. Does it make you happy, does it make you feel better? What truth are you looking for, Charley? Is there anything I could say to you that would make it make sense? Is there anything I could say that would make sense of what happened to your wife?"

Charley resisted the urge to step back. They didn't talk about Michelle. Ever. Sarah turned on her heel and Charley realized what she'd done. He refused to let a low blow on her part be a means of escape. Following her, Charley took hold of her forearm and held on. Sarah went rigid, like an animal ready to pounce. God she was thin. Charley always forgot how thin she was, unless they were touching. The weight loss worried him, and he knew Sarah was fighting an urge to act violently. Still, she halted her movement and he held on, tightening his grip just a fraction.

"You don't get to walk away anymore. I'm tired of it, Sarah."

She almost laughed. He'd only been in this life a short time. He had no idea about tired. Nevertheless, Sarah allowed him to urge her around until she faced him again. He still had her arm and she didn't yank it back. "I don't walk, I run. That's what I've always done. They hunt, I run, that's the game."

"Enough, Sarah! Enough with the empty platitudes, enough with the running. You're not…this is not you talking. Tell me what's happening here."

Charley's grasp had loosened. Pulling herself free, Sarah backed away from him, crossing her arms in self-protection. The gesture was a sign of weakness, but Sarah forced her voice to level out, forced her gaze to remain steady. "This _is _me. This is who I am, everything you weren't supposed to see. I tried to tell you that. If you want to talk platitudes…" She trailed off and swallowed hard before continuing. "When we first made the jump, I went to see Miles Dyson's widow. And I told her that no one died in vain. I told her, again, that we could make a difference. Maybe I believed it at the time."

Charley's heart dropped to his stomach. Sarah was eerily calm, and it was making him queasy. "So what do you believe now?"

Sarah shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know. What I do know is that John's been gone 3 months, Danny Dyson's been missing twice that long. I don't know if he's being held by Kaliba, I don't know if he's voluntarily following Miles's work. I don't know these things, because we haven't had a solid lead since I got shot."

Sarah saw the shock on Charley's face and nodded. She knew exactly what he'd been thinking up to this point. That because she was fighting, she must be succeeding. That they were actually making progress. He hadn't been part of this long enough to be familiar with the one step forward, three steps back routine. He didn't realize that the enemy was always ahead of them somehow. He'd learn eventually, and then he'd understand about the empty promises she'd made to him. To John and Savannah.

"I'm trying, Charley. I'm trying, but I'm short on time. And at this point, I don't know how to look at Terissa Dyson and say that what happened to her family wasn't in vain." She sure as hell couldn't look at him and say that Michelle's death wasn't pointless, that there'd been even a halfway decent reason for it. She walked away. Not towards the front door, but into the kitchen.

After a moment, Charley followed. He was having problems with what she'd already revealed, but he knew there was more. She'd shattered any illusions he'd had about the destruction of a Skynet facility every other week, but she was still hiding something. Sarah was leaning against the counter, next to the stove. As he joined her, Charley noticed a slip of paper and a key, both of which were unfamiliar to him. "What is this?" he asked, taking hold of the slip.

Turning to face him, Sarah picked up the key and held it out. "Coordinates. Location of a storage locker. It's near the dessert."

Puzzled, Charley set the paper down again, making no move to take the key. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because there are things there that John will need. If…if he comes back and I'm not around, I need you to take him there. If he doesn't come back and I'm not around, go yourself. The stuff in the locker, it was meant for John, but you'll need it too."

"Why wouldn't you be around?" Charley asked tightly. Sarah wasn't talking about the general possibility of death on the job; this was more than just concern about the hazards of war.

With a shaky breath, Sarah took the paper off the counter, took Charley's hand, presented him with the key and directions, and folded his fingers over both. She held his hand, held eye contact, until finally he pulled away and dropped both items into his pocket.

Letting his arm hang limp, Charley waited impatiently, willing the rest of his body to relax. First it was the argument that made him tense. Now he was simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Sarah…"

She couldn't put it off, couldn't run from it anymore. For the second time, she took Charley's hand. As always, her eyes lingered on the wedding ring, even as she moved his fingers into the proper position. Then she pulled his hand forward.

Charley took a sharp breath as she held his hand against her breast and Sarah forced herself not to do the same. She held his gaze as she moved his fingers against her, forcing him to press harder. She knew instinctively that he hadn't touched a woman since Michelle died She also knew the exact moment he realized, when the confusion on his face was replaced with something else.

"Oh God, Sarah…"

Sarah let his hand drop. Charley let go of her breast. His arm dropped again, and his fingers got tangled with hers on the way down. Sarah should've pulled away, but she was selfish. She wanted these last moments of concern from him.

"How long?"

This was it; the last few seconds were coming to a close. "Awhile."

Charley pulled his hand away, eyes narrowed. "How long?" he repeated, fear and anger vying for control of his voice.

"I found it a few days before I got shot."

Charley felt like he'd taken a punch to the gut. He actually stepped back a few paces. "You…" He concentrated on breathing, a task that'd suddenly become difficult. It might be nothing. Even if she'd been incredibly, infuriatingly stupid, it was probably nothing. A lump on its own didn't automatically mean danger. "You don't know what it is. It might not be-"

"I think it is." Telling him like this had been a horrible idea, having him touch her. But she'd been weak, unable to voice her fears to anyone, especially Charley. Cameron knew, but she'd known already, and she was a machine, beyond judgment.

"How do you know?"

"Cameron said that when we jumped, we jumped over my death."

"From cancer." She'd known. She'd known about this for a long time, and he was just now finding out, as she was putting her affairs in order. "If you jumped over it, then how…?"

"It doesn't mean I don't…still get it, Charley, it doesn't mean it's not in me. And sometimes I think that the things I've done, maybe I've sped up the date." She'd run through radiation to help Cameron, because they needed the cyborg. Because _John _needed her. Now both of them were gone and Sarah thought again of futility, of pointlessness.

"You haven't had it checked."

"I needed to wait until the bullet wound healed enough. I couldn't risk the questions."

Charley faced the stove, gripping it for support. All the talk about limited time, he thought she'd been referring to Judgment day. He'd already had to bury John and Sarah in his mind, mourn them after the bank explosion. Now John was gone and Sarah was telling him…and she was worried about too many _questions_?

"Damn it, Sarah!" With a sweep of his arm, Charley knocked over the pot that'd rested on the stove. The cold remains of Savannah's alphabet soup went flying, and the clatter of stainless steel against tile was deafening in the otherwise quiet room.

Sarah actually flinched. The move was so out of character for him. "Charley," she began, reaching towards him.

He moved further away, holding up the hand she'd pressed against her. It was shaking minutely. "Don't," he warned. "I need to…" Trailing off he walked quickly to the living room. He needed out. It felt like he was suffocating. This was so much worse than finding her gone, finding the ring on her pillow. The last time he'd felt anything like this was in the hospital with John, after Michelle's death. John gone, Michelle dead, and now Sarah…

"Uncle Charley?" Savannah opened her door and stepped out just as he was passing it. She'd fallen asleep the second her head hit the pillow, and then there'd been a banging noise. Wide-eyed, she looked at Aunt Sarah in the kitchen, Uncle Charley standing in front of her, breathing hard like he did after a sparring match with the brunette. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm leaving for awhile. Go back to sleep." He didn't mean to be so terse, but he couldn't help it.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," he said curtly, snatching his keys from the coffee table. Buddy had come from Savannah's room to lick up the mess in the kitchen. "Go back in your room."

Savannah's eyes darted back and forth between the adults. Aunt Sarah had her moments, but Uncle Charley never spoke to her this way.

"Did you not hear me? I said go!" Charley yelled, way beyond the point of control.

Savannah went, but not before the tears started falling. Biting her lip, she slammed the door behind her, trying to keep her sobs inaudible.

Charley scrubbed his hands over his face. The talk of limited time, the weight loss. She'd told him after the shooting that she didn't think she'd die from a bullet. He locked eyes with Sarah for half a second, all he could manage. Then he stormed out the door, leaving her to clean up the mess and deal with Savannah.

* * *

><p>Sarah was in a chair in the living room when he got back. Head resting on one hand, elbow to the armrest, she looked up at the sight of headlights through the windows. Gravel crunched as the truck pulled in. Sarah glanced at a nearby clock, confirming the late hour. She was surprised at the length of time between tires squealing as Charley left and the sound of the truck door slamming as he returned.<p>

Charley didn't look at her when he walked in. After keying in the alarm code, he knocked gently on Savannah's door before heading inside. He left the door open and Sarah watched the girl sit up right away. The crying hadn't stopped until very recently, and Savannah was still awake when the brunette left. The conversation was muffled from across the room, but Sarah heard enough. Charley apologized and hugged the girl close and Savannah was as forgiving to him as she'd been whenever Sarah got in one of her moods. Sarah didn't leave her chair, but the last words between them were clear as day.

"I love you. Lots. All right?"

"I love you too," Savannah replied.

Sarah closed her eyes and lowered her head. She heard Charley close Savannah's door, heard him cross towards her, heard him moving another one of the chairs. She felt it when he sat down in front of her, felt his eyes burning into her. They were close to the fireplace, and the only sound came from the crackling of wood. Until Charley finally spoke.

"Look at me."

Sarah ignored him. There was an edge to his voice, but there was also tenderness. She closed her eyes tighter, fighting the sting of tears.

"Sarah."

A lone tear was escaping down her cheek. Then Charley's hand was there, and his thumb was getting rid of the moisture. Sarah's throat tightened painfully, but she didn't open her eyes.

"Sarah. Look at me." When she didn't, Charley moved his hand off of her cheek. One of Sarah's hands was supporting her chin. The other was clenched tightly against the armrest. Covering that one with his own, Charley gently pried her fingers apart.

The feel of metal on her palm caused Sarah to finally open her eyes. She looked into Charley's face. He wore a sad smile, but his eyes were blazed with determination. He removed his hand and Sarah looked down to find the key she'd given him back in her possession. Her eyes flew up again, just in time to see Charley leave his chair and cross the few steps to the fireplace. As Sarah watched, he pulled the safehouse coordinates from his pocket, tossing them into the flame.

Turning back to her, Charley noticed that Sarah was trying to hide again. She was staring at the key, using the action as an excuse not to look at him. Foregoing the chair, Charley knelt down in front of her, tilting her chin upwards.

Blinking back more tears, Sarah let the key drop to the armrest, closing her eyes as Charley stroked her cheek.

"I'm not taking that key," he stated, resolve clear in his voice. "Whatever's in that locker, you'll get it yourself. You'll get it yourself, or I'll come with you, but I'm not going alone."

"Charley," she began, trying to choke back the emotions.

"No. I'm not accepting it, Sarah. I'm not going to accept…" He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't verbalize the thought of her death. "You can't…it's not supposed to be like this."

Smiling sadly, Sarah covered his hand on her cheek without taking it away. "Nothing's the way it's supposed to be." She gave herself a few more seconds of comfort before removing his hand. Even then, she couldn't quite bring herself to disengage their fingers. "Nothing's the way it's supposed to be," she repeated. "Except for this," she added, using her free hand to gesture vaguely towards her chest.

"You're supposed to die?" Charley asked. The words tasted like bile in his throat.

Sarah shrugged, still wearing that resigned half-smile. "Seems that way."

"Bullshit."

Blinking at the curse, as well as the fervor behind it, Sarah squeezed his fingers. "It's my fate, Charley. There's nothing I can do. Nothing you can-"

"Shhh," he interrupted, voice ragged. "Come here."

She obeyed , leaning forward to cling onto him. Resting her head on his shoulder, Sarah relaxed marginally, stroking a hand through his hair. Charley kissed her cheek, her temple, her cheek again.

Long moments later, he was still holding her, rubbing circles on her back and listening to her breath near his ear. Finally, Charley pulled back, just enough to look her in the eyes. "You're getting it checked."

"I am. Tomorrow."

Sighing, Charley rested his forehead against hers. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Sarah argued, still with her arms clasped loosely around his neck. "Savannah's sick."

"Not that sick."

Reluctantly, Sarah let go. Charley rocked back on his heels, but kept a loose grasp on one of her hands. "Charley," she began, staring at their fingers.

"I want to be there."

Sarah let that go for now, they'd argue about it tomorrow. "_Why_?" she asked roughly, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. She hoped he'd realize that she wasn't talking about the doctor's appointment. She was talking about the encouraging smiles and the way he kept stroking her cheek, and the hug that'd felt better than it should. She was talking about Charley not hating her.

Brushing wild locks out of Sarah's eyes, Charley sighed and waited for her to meet his gaze. Once she had, "Did you love Kyle?"

Sarah blinked repeatedly. At the words themselves, at the resignation they were laced with. "You know the answer to that."

"Even though he brought this into your life?"

Sarah wanted to argue. Then she realized that Charley wasn't actually blaming Reese. Then when she understood the comparison he was trying to make, she shook her head. "It's not-"

Charley cut her off. He knew it wasn't the same, but it was the only example he had, and it was close enough. "You loved him. Completely."

"Yes."

"And…part of you isn't angry? Part of you isn't angry at him for bringing this to you?"

She wanted to say no, but couldn't. She loved Reese, she'd _always _love Reese. Just as part of her would always _hate _Reese for interrupting her old life. It wasn't logical, she wasn't proud of it, but some part of her did blame Kyle, despite what she'd said during that incident with the leg wound.

Sarah's lack of response was all Charley needed. If he'd been off the mark, she would've had no problem correcting him. "You loved him."

"I did. I still do."

"Even though…?"

"Yeah."

Nodding, Charley took a chance. Squeezing her hand, he brought it to his lips. Then he stood and Sarah followed. They let go at the same time, and he sighed. Sarah had just confirmed what the rest of his life would be like, what he was fated to deal with.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Hello, reader people. Hope you enjoy the chapter, I worked rather hard on it. I even re-watched a scene that I love/hate many, many times. Okay, maybe just several. But still, it was kind of difficult watching it over and over. On a somewhat related note, watching said scene again and again reminded me of a couple things. One, Lena Headey is awesome. Two, TSCC is majorly awesome, even when it depresses the living crap out of me. Three, Bear McCreary's music is majorly awesome. If I was developing a TV show (I can dream, right?), I'd beg and plead for that dude to do the score. Is any of this related to the story? Not really, it's just very late, and I've been writing for a very long while. My muse has apparently tricked my body into thinking that sleep is an option instead of a necessity. Hopefully I'll wake up to some reviews in the morning :)

* * *

><p>Sarah tried to relax as the doctor poked and prodded. The woman hadn't done anything particularly invasive. Sarah hadn't needed to explain the scar on her side, or any of the other ones for that matter. Still, as the doctor checked the lymph nodes in her neck, Sarah desperately wished she'd let Charley accompany her. She'd almost given in several times during their numerous arguments, but, as usual, she'd come out on top. Savannah was sick enough that she shouldn't be going anywhere, and Sarah didn't relish explaining why they were visiting a doctor. Charley suggested leaving the girl with Ellison, but the former agent was out of town, doing research on Zeira Corp. Sarah had deliberately sent him away at this particular time, and she had a feeling that Charley knew it.<p>

"_Call me_," he'd ordered, once it was clear that her mind was made up. _"Call me as soon as you know."_

"_I will."_

"_Sarah."_

"_I will, Charley."_

He said he'd be waiting by the phone. Sarah could picture him doing just that, but hoped he wasn't. She hoped Savannah was providing a distraction, stopping Charley from making himself crazy.

"When did you find the lump?" the doctor asked, finishing the examination of Sarah's throat.

"A few days ago." The lie came easy. No reason to say how long it'd really been, no reason to find an excuse for it, no reason to be read the riot act again.

The woman flipped open a medical chart, making a few notations. "Any unexplained weight loss, fevers, night sweats?"

Night sweats, yeah. But only after the dreams about John getting killed. Those she was used to. The ones of Savannah and Charley dying in front of her, those were fairly new. Night sweats were a regular occurrence, though hardly unexplained. "I've been feeling nauseated, but I thought that was just stress."

"Work?"

Sarah took a moment to answer. "Work. Family."

"You can lie back," said the doctor, putting away her chart.

Sarah did as instructed, stretching out on the examination table and half-listening to what the woman was saying. Ultrasound. Biopsy. Opening her gown and feeling the coldness the doctor warned about, Sarah's urge to see Charley increased dramatically. She imagined him at her side, holding her hand. His presence wouldn't change what was on that screen, but at least she'd be able to look over and find his eyes, use them as an anchor. Much better than staring at the ceiling for what seemed an eternity, waiting to hear her fate.

"Did you have surgery recently?"

"No."

"An implant removed?"

"No," Sarah repeated, anxiety mounting with each second, each question that didn't make sense. "What is it, what do you see?"

"Well, the good news is, the lump inside your breast isn't a tumor."

For a moment, Sarah couldn't help but smile, despite the doctor's obvious confusion. Not a tumor. She wouldn't have to tell Charley she was dying, wouldn't have to waste away in front of him and Savannah. The doctor seemed perplexed, which couldn't be a good sign, but nothing could be worse than what Sarah had feared. "Then what is it?"

"It's a cystic mass. It's not that unusual," the woman replied, turning the machine so it was within Sarah's view.

"Great, that's great." Sarah sat up on the table. It was nothing. Charley said it might be nothing. She couldn't wait to tell him he was right. Hell, they might just celebrate, pick up some of Rosa's fresh tamales, teach Savannah to eat Rosa's salsa without the need for three glasses of milk and six slices of bread. Sarah might even consent to watching that Hannah Cyrus show again if that was what Savannah wanted. The doctor's continued explanation forced Sarah back to the here and now.

"But, what _is_ unusual is what the cyst is formed around. It's a…a piece of metal, a tiny wire."

All thoughts of celebration ceased. "Metal?"

"You don't know how it got in there?"

Winston. Kaliba. Charley. Savannah. "It's a transmitter."

* * *

><p>"You know," said Charley, exiting his back door to find Savannah in a chair nearby. "I don't recall agreeing to a game of hide and seek."<p>

"I'm not hiding Uncle Charley, I'm right here."

Shaking his head at the girl's too-innocent expression, Charley dropped to his knees in front of her. "So I see. You weren't here five minutes ago, when I looked."

"Maybe you didn't look hard enough," was the sweetly voiced reply.

"Or maybe you're a sneaky little brat," Charley countered, tone taking away any sting the words might've had. Charley understood Sarah's need to teach the girl stealth, but sometimes he wished that Savannah wasn't such a quick study. "Okay young lady, off to bed with you."

Savannah looked at the ground, smile fading.

"Hey," Charley murmured. Putting a finger under the girl's chin, he felt the heat coming off of her, knowing that the shift in attitude was more than just Savannah's distaste for cough medicine. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," the child replied, barely above a mumble.

"Right, and you think I don't know what 'nothing' means. Just because I'm not the best seeker in the world, doesn't mean I'm stupid."

It took a moment for her to meet his eyes and produce a more audible reply. "Mommy, the new one, she called me 'young lady' when she was really mad. She called me that a lot."

Eyes softening, Charley ducked his head and released a sigh. "Get over here," he ordered, opening his arms.

"I don't want to go back to sleep. And that medicine tastes funny."

"Noted." Scooping the girl into his arms, Charley took her place in the chair, settling Savannah into his lap. "Five minute reprieve," he declared.

"What's a reprieve?" Savannah asked, tucking her head under Charley's chin.

"It's what you get for being a sneaky little brat and avoiding me like you did. Basically, it's a reward for making my life difficult."

Smiling, the redhead sank further into Charley's arms, stifling a yawn. "Aunt Sarah says I'm getting really good at that game." As she finished her sentence, the girl was overtaken by a fit of coughing.

Rubbing her back, Charley waited until the coughs subsided and did his best to remain light. "Three minute reprieve," he amended, not giving her a chance to complain. "Yes, I changed my mind. I can do that."

"Not fair," Savannah mumbled groggily, feeling worse than she'd ever admit. "I'll tell Aunt Sarah."

Charley couldn't fight off a wry smile. "Aunt Sarah would be the first to tell you that life's not fair."

Wasn't that the understatement of the century? It bothered him beyond words that Sarah was at the doctor's alone. She'd used Savannah as an excuse, but Charley could guess pretty confidently at the real reasons. She didn't want to be weak in front of him, she thought it was her problem and hers alone. She didn't understand, not at all. Closing his eyes, Charley unconsciously held Savannah tighter. He'd told her to call right away. This wasn't something he wanted to hear over the phone, but he couldn't wait. When it suited her, Sarah was good at dropping out of his life for days or weeks, and he couldn't wait that long, couldn't take the chance that she'd get scared and play hide and seek. His cell phone was on the kitchen table, and he ached for it now, even knowing he could reach it long before the machine kicked in.

"Uncle Charley?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you still mad at Aunt Sarah? You were mad at her last night."

Charley released a deep, weary sigh. "I'm not mad at her."

"You were."

"I was…I was mad at the situation."

"What's that mean?"

"Never mind."

"Uncle Charley?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you and Aunt Sarah always mad at each other?"

For someone so intent on modeling Sarah, the child definitely didn't share her aversion to questions. "I've told you before, we're friends. Friends fight."

"I never fought that much with any of my friends." Shifting so she could look Charley in the eye, "Do you love her?"

Up to that point, Charley had been rubbing her back, rocking her a little. Now he went still. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because sometimes you look like you do."

"Is that so. And how exactly do people in love look to you?"

"Like my Mommy and Daddy." Savannah proceeded to explain about the few memories she had of her parents, about how they'd look at each other. She explained about the videos showing her parents, told him that the videos were the only thing she really missed from her old house, the only thing she wished she could've brought with her.

"I watched them a lot; I remember what they looked like."

"How's that?"

"Like you and Aunt Sarah, when you're not fighting. You looked like that when we had dinner."

"Before we started fighting again," Charley added, reading the part Savannah didn't want to say. "All right, let's get back inside."

"But-"

"Savannah," he warned, shifting her so he could rise out of the chair.

"Is she sick?"

Charley stood unmoving, Savannah in his arms. "Who?"

"Aunt Sarah." Savannah thought the question rather foolish. Who had they just been talking about? Who else did Uncle Charley even _know_, besides Mr. Ellison? "I think…I think she was sick after you left."

"What?"

"She stayed in my room for awhile, then she went to the bathroom. I think she threw up."

Charley shut his eyes tight, swallowing hard. "Speaking of sick, let's get you that cough syrup."

"But Uncle Charley…"

The two events happened almost simultaneously. Charley had the volume maxed on his phone. He easily detected it's ringing, even from out here. Halfway through that first ring, the alarm siren went off, blaring loudly across the beach.

* * *

><p>The door was open when Sarah got there. Yesterday, she'd experienced a moment of dread when there hadn't been immediate sound or movement as she arrived. Now, gun in hand, Sarah lingered just inside the house. She needed to move, but couldn't, not immediately. She'd called Charley too many times to count and gotten no response.<p>

Her eyes roamed the main room. The model Savannah had worked so hard on was where they'd left it on the floor. Only now it was toppled over, tiny pieces scattered everywhere. The table where they'd had dinner a few weeks earlier was covered in crayons and drawings. Sarah spared a glance for them as she moved further inside. She recognized a child's version of the Weaver house. Savannah had put herself in the picture, looking sad or possibly scared, as the stick figure version of Catherine Weaver loomed over her. Next to that, Sarah glimpsed an image of herself. Herself and Charley, positioned far away from each other. Savannah was in the middle of the page. There was such a gap between the three that Savannah looked to be by herself, even though she was positioned between the adults. The last one Sarah glanced at was different. Her and Charley, standing close together this time. Savannah was between them again. The lighthouse was in the background and the dog was standing nearby. Of the three, this was the only one in which Savannah drew herself with a happy face.

Sarah moved around the table and saw Charley's cell phone under one of the chairs. Like the model, it was in pieces. She also saw the bloodstains leading to Buddy's body. The dog from Savannah's picture was obviously dead.

The back door banged on its hinges as Sarah crashed through it. Running across the beach, she passed small fires where bits of wood had been ignited by the explosives. There was a rifle in the sand, feet away from a corpse dressed as a repair man. The dock wasn't visible yet.

She'd brought Charley into this. Then she'd put Savannah in his care, knowing he was too good to refuse. She'd promised Savannah that the girl would be taken care of. All these things ran through Sarah's head as she tore across the property. Charley had asked if she'd loved Reese. She had. Reese. Charley. She pictured Reese in a body bag, dreading what she'd see when the pier came into view.

Finally, Sarah reached the steps that led down to the dock, the water. The boat. What she saw made her breath hitch painfully in her chest.

* * *

><p>Sarah reached the marina sooner than she should've. She'd timed it repeatedly while formulating the emergency plans. Moving quickly among the vessels, she forced herself to check her surroundings, watch for threats. She forced herself not to run.<p>

She reached their docking area after what seemed an eternity. She'd told him again and again to come here if the worst happened. Jogging past a rather large boat that blocked her view, Sarah froze on the spot. When she'd found the dock empty, the boat gone, the relief was overwhelming. Those moments before learning of the transmitter, the moments after discovering she wasn't dying, they paled in comparison. Finding the boat gone made her weak with relief. Seeing it here energized Sarah in ways she couldn't explain.

Gun at her side, Sarah ran to the small pier where the boat was anchored. She jumped easily onto the vessel, landing just in time. Charley had come from the door that led to the steering wheel or helm or whatever the hell he called it. His obsession with boats and motorcycles and other such things was something he shared with John. Sarah had never much cared for those things, and she didn't now. All she cared about was Charley framed in the doorway, holding a Glock that was very similar to hers. On seeing her, he tossed it away. It landed on a nearby seat and Sarah fought an irrational urge to yell at him for abandoning his weapon. It was bad enough he hadn't had the phone, that she'd been halfway to crazy by the time she got here.

Sarah locked eyes with Charley and got half a step forward before Savannah darted past him. The brunette had maybe a second to prepare. Ditching her gun in an echo of Charley's behavior, Sarah got it out of the way and dropped to one knee just in time for impact. Trembling all over, the girl clung to Sarah with a vise-like intensity, breathing hard and fast. Sarah returned the pressure, forcing herself to watch her grip and avoid hurting the girl. Habit made her hands roam all over Savannah's body, checking for injuries. There were none. Instead of pushing Savannah away as she once had with John, Sarah pulled the girl tighter, feeling wet tears against a hot cheek. Sarah worked to keep her own tears in check.

Savannah's heart was a jackhammer against Sarah's chest. The girl began sobbing and Sarah knew from the intensity of it that Savannah hadn't cried until this moment. She was breathing too hard too fast and Sarah wanted to give instructions, wanted to tell Savannah to relax and slow down before hyperventilation became an issue. She said nothing. Her throat was locked, she had little control over her own reactions, and she doubted Savannah would hear her anyway.

Charley remained a few paces away. He stood back uncertainly until Sarah opened tightly-closed eyes and looked at him over Savannah's head. They had a silent conversation and he thought he got the gist of it. But he was numb and the shock hadn't gone away yet and he couldn't quite bring himself to move.

A few tears fell into Savannah's hair. Sarah tried talking, but all she managed was a strangled cry barely audible to her own ears. She raised an arm in desperation, but that small loss of contact had Savannah trembling even worse. Replacing her hand on the girl's back, Sarah rubbed circles and rocked and hoped Charley would get it, because she wasn't capable of mapping it out.

Charley got it. The haze lifted and he crossed to them and dropped down. Apparently he wasn't fast enough, because Sarah reached up and yanked him closer. Her nails would leave marks on the back of his neck, but Charley didn't care. Sarah pulled him as close as possible with Savannah in between them, and Charley held both of them tight.

He was hurting her. The strength of his grip was actually hurting her a little. Rather than pull away, Sarah relished the contact. Savannah was more in her arms than his, so she didn't worry too much about Charley crushing the girl. Savannah had one hand clenched in Sarah's jacket and the other in Charley's T-shirt and kept shifting positions, as if she couldn't decide where to go, who to hold.

Sarah sympathized. Dividing her attention between Savannah and Charley was difficult. She wanted the kid to stay where she was, but she needed more contact with Charley. Her earlier desire to squeeze his hand while she waited for the test results had increased tenfold.

Eventually, Savannah moved in a way that gave Charley more access. Sarah released a small, choked sound that fell off into nothing and Charley pulled her closer. He might've said her name, or it might've gotten trapped in his own head. He kissed her forehead and it wasn't enough, so he went for her cheek. Savannah moved and caused Sarah to move with her, and Charley's lips somehow landed on Sarah's neck. She didn't complain, and somehow her lips ended up grazing his chin,

Sarah moved until her mouth was very close to Charley's ear. She made a few more harsh, gasping noises and Charley tried to kiss her temple again. She was restless and so was Savannah and she moved again, and he ended up kissing a place near her eyebrow. Again, she didn't complain, but her head was heavy on his shoulder and Charley thought he heard a mumble about keeping his goddamn phone with him. Smiling against her hair, Charley adjusted his grip and enjoyed the answering pressure.

* * *

><p>Staring out the motel window, Sarah fought the urge to pace. She knew without looking that Savannah's eyes were glued to her back. They tracked her no matter where she went, and Sarah was starting to understand why John used to get so twitchy when she scrutinized him too much.<p>

Turning from the window, Sarah tried an encouraging smile as she crossed back to Savannah. Theirs was the typical motel room. Two beds, bathroom, TV. Also, there was a small table with a couple of cheap chairs. There was a nightstand between the beds, empty except for the hallmark of every hotel room known to man. Savannah kept watching her and her eyes kept going to the gun at Sarah's waist. Taking a breath, Sarah pulled open the drawer of the nightstand, pushed aside a worn copy of the Bible, and set her Glock inside. It made her nervous, missing the gun's familiar weight, but Savannah was nervous too, and Savannah wasn't calming down.

The girl was curled up on top of one of the beds. Her eyes were red as her hair and every few minutes, her small body was wracked with coughs. She was pale and sweaty, and she looked too small in that comparatively huge bed.

Sarah approached carefully. The girl had been watching every move she made, so surprising her shouldn't have been an issue. However, Savannah was incredibly skittish right now and Sarah didn't know how to help, not that she blamed the kid for being frightened. First the bad men at her old house, then Weaver's sudden disappearance, now this. The lighthouse had represented safety for her and, if she were honest, for Sarah herself. Even when things were rough between them, Charley never turned her away. When John's absence became too much, she could always go to the lighthouse, focus on Charley or Savannah, keep herself from drowning in grief. She regretted that the explosives under the beach had actually come to use. However, the loss of that safehouse was nothing compared to the continued destruction of Savannah's childhood, her sense of protection.

"Why don't you close your eyes for a bit?" Sarah suggested, perching next to Savannah on the bed and stroking through slightly-damp hair. The kid was sick. Not Hal Beasley sick, not sick enough that Sarah had to worry about pawning things for money or stealing antibiotics, but definitely sick. Sarah battled guilt for keeping Savannah up the night before while knowing in her head that this wasn't her fault. From Charley's comments, Savannah hadn't been this bad earlier. He said, and Sarah agreed, that this was more from stress than anything else. That knowledge wasn't much as far as being helpful.

Savannah shook her head at the idea of sleep, keeping her eyes locked on Sarah. She wore warm pajamas, Uncle Charley had stocked the boat with emergency clothing. Shivering, the redhead curled up tighter.

Sarah let out a controlled sigh. It'd been like this since they reached the motel. Savannah went from hot to freezing in the blink of an eye. She'd get under the covers if Sarah asked, but seconds later she'd be breathing hard and kicking the blankets off. She didn't complain. Didn't talk at all, in fact. She'd stopped crying, but she'd also stopped speaking

"Come on," Sarah prodded gently. "Close your eyes for me." Perhaps framing it as a request would help. The kid normally jumped at any opportunity to please her. Savannah closed her eyes for a few seconds. Her face became tight and frightened and Sarah knew the girl was reliving whatever she'd seen on that beach. "Hey," Sarah murmured. "We made it. It's over now and we're all okay. Right?"

Savannah nodded, but her expression didn't change. Sarah told her she didn't have to sleep if she didn't want to, and her eyes popped open again. Something was different though, and it took Sarah a moment to pinpoint it. Rather than focusing exclusively on her, Savannah's eyes kept going from Sarah to the door, then back again.

"Charley's coming back soon," Sarah assured, wishing the girl didn't need to learn so early about knowing her exits.

"When?"

It was rough and barely audible, but Sarah would take anything at this point. At the hint of progress, Sarah's smile became more genuine. "Soon, I promise. Want to see what's on TV?"

A shrug and a stare were her only answers. Finding the remote, Sarah tried a few buttons, only to find that the thing didn't have batteries. Cursing these shitty places she always seemed to find herself in, Sarah stood up and went to the TV. It looked like something that'd come out during her pre-terminator days, but it worked. Unfortunately, the first thing that popped onscreen was a very loud, very gory gunfight from some nameless action film. Sarah switched off the set and swore to herself.

Savannah was back to watching every move she made, so Sarah forced herself not to return to the window. Charley had been gone less than ten minutes, the store where he'd gone for supplies was visible from here, and Savannah was struggling enough without having to feed off of her nervous energy. Steadying herself, Sarah sat down at the table and removed her boots. Trying another smile, she went back to the girl, softly directing her to get back under the covers. As before, Savannah did so without complaint. Still fighting the need to move, Sarah climbed into bed with her, gesturing for Savannah to come closer.

"Better?" she asked, once the girl was resting in her arms.

Savannah considered, then nodded.

"Good," Sarah replied. Keeping her voice light was an effort. Savannah was slowly relaxing, but she remained way too tense. Nobody that young should be that scared, and Sarah worked to stop her anger from boiling over. Savannah was still for a few minutes, then she rolled away from Sarah, keeping the door within her line of vision. She also made sure to keep Sarah's arm wrapped around her.

"You good?"

The girl nodded silently.

Tamping down on worry and frustration, Sarah rubbed the child's back and stroked her hair. Gradually, she felt Savannah's body slackening. She remained awake, but some of the tension started to bleed out. The kid was almost asleep, almost in a place of much-needed rest, when the ringing of a cell phone broke the spell.

It was a small noise, but Savannah reacted as if it were a gunshot. Instantly on guard again, she jumped in Sarah's arms, eyes darting this way and that.

"Shhh," Sarah murmured, close to Savannah's ear. She kept her voice low and calm, even as she seethed inside. "You're okay now. We're okay now." She justified the lie by not using the word 'safe.' She'd also said 'now,' which, in her mind, added the necessary caveat. She waited for Savannah's nod of assent before leaving the bed and going to the other side of their too-small room.

"Your timing couldn't be worse," Sarah greeted, after hearing Ellison's code. Inwardly, she berated herself for failing to contact him. Charley and Savannah had taken over all her thoughts, and she'd totally forgotten about the ex-FBI man.

"Is there ever a good time to call you? I wasn't aware."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. Was he developing a sarcastic streak? She'd have to nip that in the bud. Some part of her actually missed Derek Reese, but she was doing just fine without his smartass comments. "We've got a problem."

"I noticed." He proceeded to tell her about the van full of Kaliba members that had attempted to run him off the road. "I lost them twenty minutes ago."

"You lost them?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised."

"Actually, I do." She then spent several minutes grilling him on whether he was certain they were gone. Ellison pointed out that he wasn't stupid and, because Savannah was listening, Sarah resisted the urge to ask which of them had been on a terminator's payroll. Instead, she briefly explained the situation.

"Are you all right? Is Savannah-"

"We're good, all of us." She'd found a way to tell him without mentioning the cancer scare, though she wondered how long her secret would remain a secret. Ellison had noticed her physical decline, and Charley might say something if the man asked directly. He seemed to think that she was too hard on Ellison.

"You're sure? Savannah is-"

"Savannah's fine," Sarah interrupted, glad she wasn't facing the girl as she spoke. "Charley…Charley got her out."

Ellison muttered a quick prayer of thanks. "Thank God."

Sarah was almost at the point of doing just that. The fact that neither of them had been shredded by bullets, it was almost enough to make Sarah believe in the entity that Ellison was always going on about. She fought an urge to hang up on him, go back to Savannah, and keep the child in her arms for as long as possible.

She talked with Ellison while listening for Charley. They couldn't go back to the house, but Sarah didn't want to move yet. Running this fast, there were problems, risk factors. Besides that, Savannah needed rest.

"Where are you?"

"Motel."

Ellison wasn't entirely successful at keeping the strain from his voice. "What motel?"

Sarah hesitated. "You're sure. You're absolutely sure-"

"Yes, Sarah."

"You'd better be. You'd better be very sure. Because if you bring them down on us, on _her_, I swear to you, Ellison-"

"Sarah-"

"If you bring them here, I'll do what Cameron kept suggesting. I'll kill you. And I will do it in a way that's too creative for Skynet. I will find a way of killing you that, I promise, was not programmed into Cameron's chip. Do you understand that?"

He did. Sarah told him where they were. They hung up without exchanging goodbyes.

Turning, Sarah found Savannah sitting up in bed, chin drawn to her knees. Sarah closed her eyes. She'd forgotten again, forgotten to edit herself in front of the already petrified child. "Mr. Ellison's coming to see you. That'll be nice, won't it?"

Savannah nodded mechanically.

Fuck. Mother of the Future. Right. Reese's future was closer and closer upon them and somehow Sarah was still managing to fuck this up. Before she could make the situation any worse, a car pulled in outside. Sarah met Charley at the door, relief flooding her system.

"Hey," he said quietly, setting two bags worth of supplies on the table. "You okay?"

She wasn't, and his expression said that he knew it. "We'll talk about it later," she said. "I've got this," she said, beginning to unload the bags and nodding in Savannah's direction.

Returning the nod, Charley spent another second digging through the groceries. Finding what he wanted, he pasted on a smile for Savannah, who had crawled to the very edge of the bed.

"Hey there," he greeted, sitting down next to her. In his hand was a stuffed turtle grabbed on his way out of the store. It was cheap and, Charley thought, not especially cute, but it was something. "I found this guy in the road outside, rescued him from becoming turtle soup. Think it's okay if he tags along with us?"

Savannah took the toy and examined it for a moment. She squeezed it to her chest before carefully laying it aside. Then she jumped into Charley's arms. The hug was long and Savannah's grip was surprisingly tight around his neck. Charley turned his head just enough to find Sarah watching them. There was too much on her face to decipher and he didn't even try.

Sarah crossed over to them, a bottle of medicine tablets in her hand. She felt Charley's eyes as she ran a hand over the stuffed turtle. Savannah's next bout of coughing saved the brunette from having to explain the gesture.

"Okay," Charley stated, after the worst of it was over. Gently, he pried away Savannah's hands while Sarah passed her the new toy. "We need to work on getting you better." He mentioned water and the tablets in Sarah's hand, and Sarah offered to help even though there was nothing to help with. Savannah's eyes went wide and it took repeated promises from both adults before they were able to do anything. Finally, they retreated to the bathroom, closing the door halfway.

"How is she?" Charley asked, filling an empty plastic cup with water that should've been colder.

Shrugging, Sarah found a hand towel small enough to double as a washcloth. Passing it to Charley, she twisted the cap off the medicine bottle, quickly reading the dosage instructions. "You saw how she is. I can't get her to relax; she's still in fight-or-flight mode."

"Can you blame her?" Charley asked, dampening the towel and wringing out the excess.

Since the majority of Sarah's life had been spent in fight-or-flight mode, she couldn't and didn't blame the child for being unable to process what was happening to her. "How are you?" Sarah asked, shaking two tablets out of the bottle.

"I'm good, I'm okay."

Sarah set the pills down. He'd turned the water off, and now Charley was staring straight ahead. The cheap towel in his hands was in serious danger of being shredded. Easing the material from his hands, Sarah put it aside, covering his fingers with hers.

Charley studied her intently. There'd been moments of contact between them, fleeting touches. Until today, he'd always been the one to initiate that contact. Shifting so he could face her more fully, Charley allowed his other hand to stop clenching the edge of the counter. Before he knew it, both of Sarah's hands were in his.

"I thought she was dead," he admitted, voice hollow.

Closing her eyes, Sarah felt Charley tighten his grasp on her fingers. "She's not," Sarah reminded him, hating the catch in her own voice.

"But I thought she was. I thought both of us were, but if it was just me, it wouldn't matter."

That was too much, the idea that he wasn't important. "Shut up, Charley." The admonishment came out rough and harsh, but Sarah was unable to do any better.

Charley went on as if she hadn't spoken. "We were already outside when the alarm went off. I think that's the only reason… Then we got to the pier and I made Savannah go ahead of me so I could…"

"The switch."

"Yeah, the switch. She fell. She fell when she got on the boat and I thought she was dead. I swear, Sarah, I thought they'd shot her."

"They didn't," Sarah retorted, talking around the lump in her throat.

"I thought they had. And I froze for a second and there were bullets going everywhere and I don't know how I didn't end up dead."

Sarah tried to breathe, tried not to picture what he was saying, what she'd expected to see when she returned to the house.

"I thought she was dead for a second and I actually _wanted _to get shot. I didn't care anymore. You were dying and Savannah was dead and I couldn't-"

"Shut up, Charley," Sarah hissed, pulling him tight against her.

Charley realized too late how affected she was. Her breathing was short and ragged and her hands were clawing into his shirt. She was so tough, she acted so casual about this. He forgot, he forgot sometimes that Sarah wasn't immune to the life she led.

They held the embrace for untold moments. Eventually, the fear and desperation eased a little. Still, they held each other. It was warm and familiar and cathartic and more important than anything that'd passed between them.

"Savannah's okay," Sarah told him. Her grip had loosened, but her voice was muffled by Charley's chest. She was listening to his heartbeat, using it to calm her ragged nerves.

Nodding against her hair, Charley moved his chin from the top of her head, pulling back slightly "And so are you."

The relief couldn't have been more obvious. Instead of expressing her own doubts about that, Sarah forced herself to think it a stress reaction, like Savannah's. Something minor exacerbated by something major. Rather than focusing on the weight loss, Sarah sighed and allowed herself a wry smile. "We were going to celebrate. I was going to bring Mexican."

She sounded genuinely disappointed at missing the meal, but she smiled and Charley returned it. She was okay. Savannah was okay. That in itself was cause for celebration. "Mexican huh? From Rosa the gringo hater?"

"Hate's different from total disrespect. I'd love one of her burritos."

Charley grinned. She was hungry, another good sign. "There's a Taco Bell a few blocks over."

Sarah pulled a disgusted face. "We don't talk about that place, unless you want me to puke again. Mention it in front of Rosa, she's liable to go for her husband's shotgun."

"In that case, I can see why you two are friends."

* * *

><p>Savannah remained on the edge of her bed when they emerged. Clutching Charley's present, she watched him approach with a cup of water and two pills. Sarah walked beside him, carrying a damp cloth.<p>

"All right. Not your favorite thing in the world, but we've got to do it."

Savannah, so stubborn about medicine earlier in the day, swallowed without a word. Exchanging worried glances, the adults got her back under the covers, with a pillow behind her head. Her new toy came with her, clutched firmly in her arms. Charley began sorting through the grocery pile, searching for the thermometer. As he did this, Sarah folded the cloth over and placed it against Savannah's forehead. The coolness seemed to help, but Savannah kept watching the them, despite obvious exhaustion.

Sarah watched her, read the fear in her eyes. For the second time, she climbed into bed next to Savannah, hoping it would be enough. It wasn't. The girl kept moving, switching her attention from one to the other, trying to keep both of them in sight

The cloth kept falling off Savannah's forehead. After replacing it for the third time, Sarah locked eyes with Charley. There was a moment of silent communication, then uncertainty. Finally, Charley kicked off his shoes, letting them join Sarah's boots on the floor. Abandoning the thermometer search, he moved to the other side of the bed. He was about to climb in, but a look from Sarah halted his progress. At first, he thought he'd misread something, gotten a signal crossed. Then he realized. Doing his best to hide it from Savannah, Charley removed his gun, the same one he tossed aside on the boat. Sarah nodded at the drawer and he opened it to find a gun and a Bible. Depositing his own weapon next to Sarah's, Charley crawled onto the bed.

Ensconced between the adults, Savannah relaxed enough to lay on her back and keep the cloth in place. Yet still, even with both of them in easy reach, Savannah couldn't close her eyes.

Charley's heart broke for the little girl. "You're safe," he murmured. "You're safe now."

Sarah looked at him over the girl's head. For a second, they were fighting again. He knew how she felt about that word. Then Savannah's eyes went to hers and Sarah was forced to back off. "We're here," she said quietly. "We're right here."

They were rapidly approaching a time when those words would lose meaning, when Savannah would learn that the presence of loved ones didn't always equal safety. Based on what the girl had already been through, based on the hesitation Sarah saw in her eyes, she knew that this process had already begun. For now though, the words were enough. With Sarah and Charley on either side, the girl fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

Sarah wasn't so lucky. It was relatively early, and she was too wired to sleep. She and Charley were both holding Savannah, and Sarah couldn't risk moving yet. The girl would panic at the loss of contact, and they'd be back to square one.

Wired but exhausted, Sarah made a token effort at relaxation. She closed her eyes, but behind them, all she saw were nightmare images. She was back at the lighthouse, near the dock. Only this time, Charley and Savannah were there too. Charley floated in the water, three bullets in his chest. Savannah was next to him, her tiny forehead marred in the same way, with bullet holes forming the three dots that always seemed to crop up.

Sarah didn't realize how tense she was becoming until Savannah moved away from her, whimpering in her sleep. She tried to relax, tried to keep from clenching the sheets. She was spooned up near Savannah, her arms draped easily over the tiny body. A touch to her hand had Sarah opening her eyes.

Charley, alive and well, had covered her fingers with his. It wasn't much, but it was enough to settle her, ground her in the present. Offering him a smile, Sarah squeezed gently, letting herself bask in the moment. Savannah was still warm, never mind petrified, but she was sleeping now, and she hadn't been totally unresponsive. Charley was rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, and even though he was using the hand with the ring, it didn't matter at this point, not right now. Charley was alive, Savannah was alive, and Sarah might not be dying after all. The image of both of them lifeless in the water invaded Sarah's mind one last time before she forced it away. They were alive, all of them, and for now, it looked like they would stay that way. Hell of a day, but it definitely could've been worse.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **So, unlike pretty much all the other chapters, this was really a pain to write. I couldn't decide if I wanted to do it at all, and then when I finally committed to it, the damn thing morphed on me, not entirely unlike our favorite liquid metal terminator. Weaver, by the way. I love Robert Patrick, but Weaver is flipping awesome. Anyway, back to business. The chapter morphed. Not so drastically that it's unrecognizable as the thing I saw in my head, but it did change. I'm pretty sure I like it, but that might change after some sleep and a break from the computer screen. Either way, it is what it is, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'm somewhat nervous about this one, and I haven't really been nervous during this fic before. So good, bad, or ugly, let me know what you think, and I'll catch you all later.

* * *

><p>Charley came awake with a start. He sat at the crappy table in their crappy motel room, blinking rapidly. The first thing that truly registered was Sarah near the door, facing away from him. The next thing he noticed was the feel of cool metal on his fingers. Looking down, Charley saw his revolver resting just under his right hand. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he knew for certain that he hadn't moved the gun from its place in the nightstand. Taking his hand off the pistol, Charley returned his attention to Sarah. She'd donned her leather jacket and boots, and there were keys in her hand.<p>

"Trying to sneak away?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Sarah did her best not to react to those words, glad Charley couldn't see her face. She must've been getting rusty. She'd been sure she could leave unnoticed, Charley being a fairly heavy sleeper. Catching herself, Sarah realized she had no right to make that assessment. She hadn't been in a position to judge his sleeping patterns in a long time, and this world she'd made him part of tended to change one's sleep habits.

Seeing Sarah tense up, Charley mentally slapped himself. Half-asleep, he hadn't thought of what he was saying, hadn't meant to say it at all. But the words were there now, as were the memories they evoked, and neither could be taken back. Charley rolled those memories around in his head. It was an exercise in masochism, but he wanted to test something. He thought about her leaving, thought about Michelle, and waited for the anger and sadness to kick in. There was a quick stab of both, then nothing. He didn't have it in him to be hurt or resentful, not right now. The other feelings would come back soon, as they always did. However, he had a notion that they wouldn't come as often anymore, wouldn't be as strong. Charley looked at his wedding ring, feeling guilty.

Steeling herself, Sarah turned around to face him. She needed out of here. Charley had dozed off and she'd found herself watching him, enjoying the peacefulness of his features. Awake, he wasn't so peaceful anymore, not since John brought him into their life again.

They were alone now, Savannah was three doors away, with Ellison. He'd arrived several hours ago, his appearance bringing a burst of energy and excitement to the kid. Then she'd been hit with more coughing and shaking, and they'd tried bringing her back to this room, only to realize that the walls were very thin, and that someone had checked in next door. Since neither Sarah or Charley were willing to give a sex talk to a six-year-old, and since they were too drained to think up a safe explanation for the noises in the next room, they'd taken her back to Ellison. Sarah didn't care for the arrangement, but Charley had reminded her that Ellison cared for the girl too, and that Sarah would have to start trusting him sometime. Sarah doubted that. She was expecting Kaliba at any moment, not terribly confident in Ellison's ability to lose a tail.

Despite all that, she'd given in, left the child in his care. She was sleeping when they left, too ill to recognize the tension between the adults in her life. Sarah had agreed to a truce with Ellison. That didn't mean she'd forgotten what he'd done with Cromartie's body, and it didn't mean she had any desire to sit with him while he read verses out of that big storybook he liked so much.

So she'd come back here with Charley, trading one form of awkwardness for another. Then he'd fallen asleep and she'd started watching him, thinking things that shouldn't be thought about. Combined with the stress of the day, with her nagging worries about Kaliba, Sarah had begun to feel claustrophobic. The room was much bigger than her cell at Pescadero, but it wasn't feeling that way. So Sarah made an escape attempt and failed, and now she was facing Charley and the words he'd just spoken, and trying not to react.

Noting the lack of sound from the next room, Charley injected a note of humor into his voice. Hurting Sarah wasn't new, but this time he truly hadn't intended it. "What'd I miss?" he asked, jerking a thumb towards the wall behind them.

Sarah smiled a little. She'd refused to have a slumber party with Ellison, but waiting outside was too conspicuous, made them into targets. The ancient excuse for a TV gave up on them after fifteen minutes, forcing her and Charley to endure creaky springs and guttural noises that'd thankfully tapered off. "Steve had to go home before his wife finished at the gym."

Charley glanced at his watch. "Isn't it a little late for a workout?"

Sarah shrugged. She was used to exercising long into the night and morning, trying to burn away fear or stress or sadness. She'd been exercising a lot in the last three months. "Apparently Tracy joined a late-night pilates class. She's trying to look good for Steve." Steve didn't seem to realize that his wife was more than likely holed-up in a sleazy motel very similar to this one, complaining about her husband's lack of appreciation. "He promised to leave her after his youngest daughter was out of the house."

"Of course he did. Where were you headed?"

"Nowhere, just across the street. I need to pick up a few things."

Charley frowned. He'd gone to the store hours ago; she'd given him a list. "What kinds of things?"

Sarah returned his frown. There was something in his voice, a hint of something that she didn't like. Derek and Cameron and John, they'd all questioned her at one point or another, questioned her methods or her sanity. If that wasn't bad enough, they'd then had the gall to leave her, all of them. Charley was the only one left, the only one trustworthy. But there was something in Charley's voice that didn't sit well with her, and she couldn't put up with the questioning. Not tonight. Not from him.

"Things," she replied coolly. "I'll be back in a minute." Assuring herself that her Glock was concealed under her shirt, Sarah turned and left before Charley had a chance to respond.

* * *

><p>Charley waited impatiently for Sarah's return. It seemed that Savannah wasn't the only one battling anxiety. He wanted Sarah back in his sight, even as he dreaded being alone with her again. He was on edge, and he'd made her even more on edge than usual, and Savannah wasn't there to keep them from going at each other.<p>

He'd pissed her off earlier with the tone of suspicion. Charley wasn't even sure where that had come from. No, that was a lie. She'd hidden the lump for months; she'd agreed to marry him without divulging the truth. He was sick of lies, sick of evasions. Even small, inconsequential ones. They weren't together anymore, he didn't have the right to wonder what she was doing and why, not the way that he used to. Because they weren't together anymore, he guessed Sarah had no true obligation to mention that she'd thought she was dying, that she was planning to leave him alone with Savannah in a world turned to hell.

The sound of a car pulling in made Charley leave the table. Crossing to the window, he watched Sarah exit her truck, a small grocery bag in hand. He noticed the way her free hand inched towards her waist as she scanned the parking lot for threats. Charley left the window and sat down again before she could see him. Sarah complained enough about his over-protectiveness.

He waited several minutes, drumming his fingers on the table. Sarah didn't come in and the anxiety returned full force. Crossing to the door, Charley opened it to find her sitting on the ground immediately to his right, the bag at her side. She looked up as he exited, then turned her head the other way.

"Lose your key?" He tried to stay light, casual, tried to keep the stress of the day from leading to another sniping match.

Sarah kept her eyes trained in the other direction. "You think she's okay in there?"

Following her gaze, Charley realized she was focused on the door to Ellison's room. "He'd get us if she wasn't. Or he'd call."

Sarah knew that. Intellectually. Still, she remembered the clinginess of a few hours ago. They'd given Savannah medicine that was supposed to make her drowsy, and the girl was already exhausted. She was also restless and panicky and the mother in Sarah didn't like the idea of her waking up without them.

"You want to check? You want to bring her back here?"

Shaking her head, Sarah forced herself to look away from the door and into Charley's face. "Not worth the risk of waking her up. We're leaving early tomorrow, she needs whatever rest she can get."

Charley nodded, giving a reply without truly thinking of his words. "She's fine. She's safe with him."

Green eyes flashed in the dark. "She's not safe. No one is."

Sighing, Charley pressed a hand against his temple. "Does it help, saying that all the time?"

Yes actually. The mantra was familiar, a constant, one of the only constants she had. Those were rare in Sarah's life, but the precariousness of their situation, how much stood to be lost, that didn't change. Sarah had no intention of telling this to Charley. Until he figured it out for himself, she might as well talk to a wall.

"Does it help you to say the opposite, to think it? To lie to yourself?" Sarah thought that it might, and she envied him a little. Security was a delusion she had no time for, not when that delusion forever promised to be ripped away. She'd tried safety and security in Nebraska, tried tricking herself, and the results hadn't been ideal.

Charley had no idea what to say to that. Rather than attempt to sift through feelings and emotions that couldn't be handled, he held out his hand to the brunette. "Come inside?"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Sarah reached over and passed him the bag at her side, rising without help.

Charley let her precede him through the door. He put the bag on the table while Sarah removed her jacket, draping it over a chair. He didn't look in the bag, but he knew with a good amount of certainty what was inside. His suspicions were confirmed when Sarah sat down in the chair where her jacket rested and pulled out a rather huge bottle of tequila.

Eyebrows raised, Charley watched her twist the cap off, taking a long drag. "Thirsty?" he asked, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Sarah rolled her eyes as he took the seat next to her. "Time jump may've thrown things off, but last I checked, I was still legal."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"I was thinking that you should share," Charley argued, reaching towards the bottle.

Sarah pulled it away from him, shaking her head. "I hate sharing."

"Right. What kind of example are you setting for Savannah?"

"Savannah's not here. Are you saying I should teach her how to drink?" Words aside, Sarah let go of the bottle, pushing it across the table. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"What does that mean?" he asked, raising the alcohol towards his lips.

"Means you're a lightweight, and this stuff's stronger than beer. So again, don't say I didn't warn you."

Offering her a false glare, Charley took a long swig, and promptly choked.

Leaning back, Sarah watched him cough and sputter, observing his disgusted expression. "Lightweight," she teased, a smirk on her lips.

"All right," said Charley, trying to ignore the burn in his throat and the blood rushing to his face. "You warned me." He watched in bemusement as Sarah took another drag from the tequila bottle, waiting for her to finish before speaking again. "You mentioned an early start tomorrow. You didn't say where we were going."

"I didn't," Sarah agreed, hands resting idly against the bottle. She wouldn't have gotten drunk, even if it was safe to do so. The booze took the edge off some of her worries, made her more comfortable with the idea of being still for one night. "There's a place in the desert, near the storage locker I told you about."

"How many of these safehouses do you have?"

Counting the one she'd shared with Ellison that they didn't dare return to, and the lighthouse that also couldn't be used again, "One."

So all of them would be sharing a roof. Sarah and Ellison, Sarah and himself. Charley chose to leave that for tomorrow. "That locker, if I asked what was in it…?"

"It's for John," Sarah replied, voice catching.

"You said. You also said that I would need it too."

"You will, you and Savannah. When the time is right."

"And I suppose you'll be deciding when that time is."

"Of course," Sarah replied. Pushing back from the table, she stood up and moved away from her chair. As she did, her jacket slipped and fell to the floor. Sarah wasn't fast enough to stop Charley from seeing the item that fell out of her pocket.

As Sarah picked up the jacket and snatched up the carton of cigarettes, Charley looked at her aghast. Cancer, the cyborg had told her, without being specific as to the type. He tried to speak, but couldn't.

"Don't look at me like that," Sarah snapped. Walking away from him, she threw her jacket onto one of the beds while keeping hold of the cigarettes. The booze hadn't really mattered, it was the smokes that she'd wanted to hide. Crossing back to him, Sarah put the cigarettes on the table, bracing her hands against it. "I wasn't going to smoke them, I was just keeping them." Quite aware that she sounded like a sixteen-year-old caught with drugs, she ignored Charley's dubious expression. "I need to have them sometimes. To feel better."

"Have them. Have them without smoking them."

"Yes," she said defensively. Several seconds later, after a fortifying breath, "I smoked in the hospital. Made me feel better then, too."

Charley opened his mouth to wonder what hospital she was talking about, where the staff would let their patients smoke. Then he got it, and his whole demeanor changed. "Pescadero."

"Pescadero," Sarah confirmed, trying not to twitch. The name still put her on edge, and that name coming from Charley's lips, it felt wrong. Very, very, wrong. "Different time, different rules. The cigarettes were a bribe, to keep me calm."

Pescadero was one of many sore spots. They didn't talk about that place. And though she pretended otherwise, Charley knew that breaking that rule now was affecting her. "Did it work?"

Shrugging, Sarah made a so-so hand gesture. "Sometimes yeah. Worked a lot better than the arm restraints or the Thorazine drips."

Charley watched her without knowing what to say. This felt like a test somehow, like she was anticipating a specific response. He didn't know what she wanted, what she needed him to do. He'd always tried not to picture what she'd been through in that place.

Sarah nodded to herself, voice hard. She hadn't wanted to explain her craziness to him, the scars left by those three years. He'd already seen so many of the ugly parts, and she hadn't wanted him to see that. "There it is."

Charley frowned, knowing that he'd failed whatever test she'd set for him. "What?"

"There's the look. You always want to talk about the hard stuff, and then you look at me with pity whenever we do."

She made to turn away. Charley's arm flew down to the table, trapping one of her hands in his. He pressed down hard, eyes blazing, "It's never been pity. Ever." How had she reached the point where basic human empathy had become indistinguishable from pity? "It's _never_ been pity," he repeated, holding her gaze.

There was too much conviction for Sarah not to believe him. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't actually leave, but she needed a minute away. "All right, not pity. Are you going to tell me again that I should've told you, that you wouldn't have sent me back there?"

Charley took his hand away, matching the hardness of her tone. "I wasn't going to say that. And no, I would never have sent you back to that place."

"Easy thing to say, after you've seen a few endos burning."

"Easy thing to doubt, since you never gave me a chance. Guess we'll never know who was right."

Sarah turned her back on him and walked towards the bathroom. "No, I guess we won't."

* * *

><p>Bathed in darkness, Charley rolled over on the mattress, facing Sarah. She was standing by the window, watching the parking lot and shifting the cigarettes from one hand to the other. They hadn't spoken in two hours. "You should sleep."<p>

"So should you," she retorted, not looking away from the window. Charley had sleepwear in a duffel bag, emergency stuff kept on the boat. He still wore the clothes of this morning, and he lay on top of the comforter rather than under it.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" he asked, not unkindly.

Sarah shrugged, opening the carton. Taking a cigarette between her fingers, she twirled it absently without moving her eyes. "Sleep and I have our issues." That'd always been the case, but it was worse now. More uncertainty, more to worry about. She might've actually welcomed Derek's snoring or Cameron's boots thudding across the floor in that ceaseless, mechanical pattern.

"You should try resolving them, at least for tonight." He wasn't trying to push, stress and close quarters had already caused them to fight over nothing. Charley didn't want to worsen the situation, but the way she stood there without movement, it made him nervous somehow, unable to attain his own state of restfulness.

"Someone needs to keep watch."

Abandoning any notion of sleep, Charley sat up on the bed, throwing his legs over the side. "We've been here for hours; you're still worried about Kaliba?"

"I'm always worried. Someone has to be."

Charley crossed towards her. "You don't think they would've made a move already, if they'd followed Ellison?"

Shrugging again, Sarah spared half a glance as Charley joined her at the window. "Yeah, I think they would've moved already if they had our location. But maybe I'm wrong, maybe they're just waiting for me to go to sleep and stop worrying, and that's when they'll come."

"You know that's not rational."

Sarah gritted her teeth. He still didn't understand, even after all this. "Nothing's rational. Is it rational that I've got a piece of metal in my chest? That I led them to you?"

"You didn't know."

"No, I didn't. Metal's still there, the two of you still almost died."

She was crushing the cigarette between her fingers, and her free hand was clenched viciously around the carton. "Are those doing their job, do you feel better?"

Sarah looked at him fully for the first time in hours. "I don't need you commenting on my neurosis." Cameron had found out about the cigarettes. She'd promised not to tell John, but only after delivering a lecture on the wastefulness of spending money on death sticks.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it. What you think is all over your face. We'll have to work on that."

Charley eased the pack out of her hand, wary of the tension rolling off of her. "Great. Can we also work on your ability to read what's on my face? Because that could use some improvement too."

He held out his hand. After a beat of silence, Sarah passed him the other cigarette. She expected him to throw everything away, but instead Charley set the pack on the table, resting the unlit cigarette on top of the carton.

"You don't think I'm crazy?" she asked, once Charley had rejoined her.

In response, Charley offered her a smile. "Oh, I definitely think you're crazy, but I thought that before all the stuff about killer robots, so-"

Sarah smacked him on the arm. "Cyborgs, killer cyborgs." Another beat of silence. Then, "You honestly wouldn't have turned me in?"

A joke came to his lips, something about what Sarah would've done to him if he'd endangered her or John. Instead, he said. "Training exercise. Read what's on my face; see if you can't figure it out."

Sarah did just that. She read him, she figured it out, then she refocused on the empty parking lot to keep from looking at him again.

"The thing about sneaking away, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"I know," Sarah admitted truthfully.

"I wasn't trying to be a jerk. Just…today, it was a lot. Maybe not to you, maybe you're used to this-"

"It was a lot," Sarah agreed.

"Okay, it was a lot. And you were acting-"

"I know how I was acting," Sarah said quietly. "I know that, and I know you must be tired of secrets."

"Just a little. I was…when you said you were sick…I'm glad you're okay."

Biting her lip, Sarah faced him again, abandoning her vigil over the parking lot. "When we move, after we're set up and we've got new ID's, I want to make another appointment. I had tests done when Cameron first told me, more extensive tests."

"They were clear?" Charley asked, voice heavy with concern.

"They were clear, but that was awhile ago, and I need to be sure. I can't…I haven't been able to eat much lately," she admitted, as if he didn't know already.

"It's probably stress," Charley said, trying to convince himself as much as her.

"Probably, but I need to know."

"I'll come with you." He expected her to argue, like she had last night. Instead, he got a soft smile and a murmur of thanks. The positive reaction lifted Charley's spirits, emboldened him. "It's stress. Or it's something else we can fix, but it's not cancer."

"Really," Sarah replied, keeping her tone light. "What makes you so sure?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You're Sarah Connor. Sarah Connor doesn't check out because of cancer."

He'd meant it as a joke, as an encouragement. He hadn't meant to send her walls flying up again. Sarah returned her attention to the parking lot, demeanor changing in the blink of an eye. "I hate that," she said, quiet but rough. "Don't do that, not you."

"Do what?" Charley asked, utterly confused as to what could've set her off.

"Say my name like that. Kyle did that when we met, said my name like it was some mythic phrase, like I could walk on water."

Charley was bewildered. Sarah's reaction didn't match up to what she'd told him of John's father. "You were a legend to him, I mean…?"

"You're right; to him I _was_ a legend. He fell in love with an idea, with stories of a woman who didn't exist yet. That's a lot to live up to."

Charley brushed a hand over her forearm, urging her to look at him. "The fact that John's here, I'd say that means you lived up to stories."

Sarah bowed her head momentarily. "John's _not_ here though, is he? And neither is Kyle." Reese was gone because he'd protected her, protected her so she could protect their son. Their son had been gone three months, and Sarah had no reason to hope that she'd see him again. The distance between them, John might as well be with Kyle right now, they were both lost.

Sarah's tone as she spoke Reese's name caused Charley to withdraw his hand and turn away. He stared ahead as Sarah had done for much of this discussion. There was nothing to say about John, nothing that wouldn't sound like false hope. Charley shouldn't have said the other thing either, but couldn't help himself. "Guess you're right. Guess that is a lot to live up to."

Sarah's head snapped upwards. Charley was trying to hide it, but hiding wasn't his forte. "You're jealous. You're jealous of Kyle." The words came slow. This was a revelation for her. He'd always been so open, so honest, she'd thought she'd known everything about Charley. This, this was new and shocking.

"I'm not jealous," Charley refuted, only half-lying. He didn't think jealousy was the term, but he couldn't think of anything better. Sarah's green eyes were boring into him, wide in the moonlight streaming in from the window. Reluctantly, he met her gaze. "He was your hero."

"And?" Sarah asked, still having trouble with this. Charley was the kindest, most rational…she'd never once suspected jealousy towards Reese, but Charley's face told her that the feelings had always been there.

"He was always your hero," Charley continued, unknowingly confirming Sarah's suspicions. "Even when you weren't telling the truth of how he died…" Actually, she _had _told the truth, just not all of it. Reese had always been a soldier killed on a mission; Sarah had simply left herself out of the tale. "You talked about him a few times and…"

"You asked."

"I know that but…he died a hero. And then I find out he died for you, for John. That's…that's a lot."

Sarah could do nothing more than stare at him for the longest of moments. Then she turned on her heel, crossed to the table, and slammed her palm against the wood. "God _dammit_, Charley!"

Blinking rapidly, he stared at her across the room, vaguely terrified by the intensity of the reaction. "Sarah…"

"Yeah, Kyle died for me, for John. Kyle was a hero. Doesn't change the fact that he's dead. He's _dead, _Charley. And the last thing I need, the last _fucking_ thing, is another hero dying for me. Especially…" She caught herself just in time, just before completing the sentence. Especially him.

For lack of anything better to do, anything better to _hit_, Sarah snatched Charley's gun off the table. Biting painfully into her lower lip, she went to the nightstand and threw the gun inside. There was no reason to hide the weapon, not with Savannah gone. It was an irrational move, made because Sarah liked the sound and vibrations as she slammed the drawer closed.

Sarah had run from him again. She was between the two beds, clenching the nightstand's edge in a white-knuckle grip. Charley followed, realizing that maybe he shouldn't. He went to her anyway. Her breathing was hard and ragged and he saw tears in her eyes, even though her head was down. Charley touched her back and she trembled, a violent spasm that wracked her whole body.

"Don't," Sarah ordered harshly.

Any other night, any other moment, that tone might've worked. Touching her shoulders, Charley felt rigid muscles under his fingers. Despite that, Sarah let him turn her around.

"I never wanted you to be Kyle," she said roughly.

"Okay," Charley replied, rubbing up and down arms that were suddenly covered in gooseflesh. He believed her, even though she'd all but told him how useless he was, how he'd never be what she needed.

"I didn't," Sarah reiterated in a strangled sort of voice. "You never had to be Kyle. You don't…that's not what I want."

"Okay," Charley repeated, cupping her cheeks and wiping the tears away. "I get it, Sarah."

Sarah would've shaken her head if Charley wasn't holding it in place. "You don't. You don't understand anything. I can't have another Kyle. I _can't_-"

She didn't finish the sentence. Charley's lips descended, cutting her off. The kiss was quick, light, barely there at all. He pulled away before she could get mad and draw her gun. "I thought you were dead. For eight years, I thought you were dead. And then you came back and I thought you were dying again. I _get it, _Sarah_."_

Sarah closed her eyes. Charley was kissing her temple. His hands were on her face, getting rid of the tears. Then he was pulling away, like always.

Sarah made a noise while he was removing his hands. A desperate, whimpering sound Charley never would've associated with her, not under normal circumstances. Her fingers flew up, holding his in place, and the move broke something in him. Leaning forward, Charley kissed her again. The last one had been so fast; he could almost lie and call it chaste. This wasn't chaste. As soon as Charley realized that, he tried to back off again.

Releasing her grip on Charley's hands, Sarah instead put her arms around his neck, holding him steady. She should've let him go, but she couldn't, not this time.

Sarah opened her mouth to him and Charley took the invitation. She tasted faintly of tequila, though he knew she wasn't drunk. Of their own volition, his hands began roaming over her body. He went down to her waist, keeping his touch light. God, she was so damn thin.

Charley's hands were barely touching her. Sarah barely felt them as they stopped at her waist before starting a return trip. She trembled hard, breaking the kiss and gasping as she leaned into his neck.

Charley's eyes closed, as his hands moved back up. Sarah's lips were all over him. His face, his neck, they left a trail too quick for him to follow. The butterfly kisses were a contrast against her grip. She still had one hand on his neck, while the other roamed upwards, brushing over his hair.

Charley's hair was longer, longer than it'd been the last time they did this. She'd known that intellectually, but feeling it was different. Then Charley's hands were skimming over her breasts, and Sarah stopped thinking about his haircut. She'd examined herself every day for weeks, looking for any changes, any increase in the lump's size. She'd hated it, like she hated the idea of that wire in her chest, no matter that it was fried. Charley's hands lingered on her chest, and Sarah forgot to care about the metal.

Feeling Sarah react to him, Charley was tempted beyond words to dive in again, kiss her for a bit before going on to more. He wanted her badly, they were close enough that she'd definitely be able to feel it. Moving his lips to her ear, Charley let his mouth roam over the shell of it before speaking in a ragged whisper. "You sure?"

Moments after he said it, Charley's mouth was on her neck, impeding her thought processes. Sarah pulled back just slightly, creating the barest hint of space between them. "No," she answered. It was a lie. She _was _sure, completely certain that this was a terrible idea. Kaliba might be lurking, Savannah might wake up and want to see them. Technically speaking, Sarah hadn't had sex in eight years, and those were just the minor reasons why this was a bad idea. "You?"

"No." She felt the same. Thinner, but basically the same. Charley felt vaguely guilty for remembering what Sarah liked and disliked. It'd been eight years, and he'd been married, he shouldn't remember so well. They shouldn't do this. He waited for Sarah to put her admission into action, waited for her to pull away completely. She didn't, and Charley realized that it was his choice. Nearly fanatical about control, Sarah was leaving it up to him.

Charley's hands moved again and for a single, devastating moment, Sarah thought he'd made his decision. He pushed her further back, but only a little. Only enough to safely reach the gun hidden beneath her shirt. Still with an arm around his neck, Sarah kissed him roughly, letting her free hand join his. Together, carefully, they lifted up the gun, and then Charley took it from her. She pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and Charley placed the Glock inside, next to the Bible, next to his own weapon. By the time he shut the drawer, Sarah was pulling at his belt and he was lifting up her shirt.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **How goes it, reader people? I am so insanely glad that this chapter is done. Truly, you have no idea. We're back to a somewhat lighter tone, which should carry over into next time. Three chapters of angst and romantic tension have exhausted me, so we're easing things up a little. But not really. Ah, you'll see when you read the chapter. With the complications of TSCC's timeline (2007…2009?) I really have no idea of the gap between 'The Mousetrap' and 'To the Lighthouse.' I…guess it was supposed to be two years…? But, I have never and will never buy that. John was seeing Riley for two years? No, he was not. Regardless of what that headstone says, _I'm _the writer, so I'm God in this little universe. In an exercise of my Godly powers, I'm saying that Michelle died in November, around John's birthday. We're just going to pretend that it's been a few months shy of a year since then, because that's what I feel like doing at this particular moment, and Terminator continuity gives me a migraine. As always, enjoy the chapter, and leave some feedback on your way out.

* * *

><p>Sarah woke up in a different time. Without opening her eyes, she took stock of her surroundings. She was naked without being cold, and there was a weight over her midsection, a comforting one. The only sound came from Charley's breathing, soft and even. Sarah could feel it against her neck, cluing her in to the fact that they were spooned together. Sarah noted all this without opening her eyes and for a moment, she was in a different time and place. Nebraska, Sunday morning, judging by the fact that she could feel sun on her face yet they were still in bed. John always slept late on the weekends, now that he had that option. She could just lay here until he started shuffling around downstairs, or until Charley woke up and nuzzled her neck and began teasing her about why the pancakes weren't ready yet.<p>

Languidly, Sarah shifted in the sheets until she could hear the thud of Charley's heartbeat. Dusting her lips against his chest, Sarah felt his arm tighten around her, an instinctive reaction. He muttered an unintelligible bit of nonsense, which Sarah easily translated as an order to be still and go back to sleep. Rolling over, Sarah resumed her original position with Charley behind her, his arm gently trapping her. Still half-asleep and with her eyes closed, Sarah brought his palm to her lips, quietly resettling herself. And then reality set in.

It was the sheets that gave it away. As she moved, Sarah came to realize that the material she was laying under wasn't familiar. The sheets were coarser, stiffer than they should be. Their bedding in Nebraska was soft, it smelled like laundry soap and Charley's aftershave. This set had the smell and feeling Sarah had come to associate with motels.

Fuck.

Denial wasn't usually something Sarah tolerated, especially not in herself. Still, she refused to open her eyes, to confirm what she already knew. Blindly, Sarah felt the fingers of Charley's left hand, just as Charley kissed her hair and muttered something incomprehensible. Ignoring him, Sarah found what she was looking for, the metal. Opening her eyes, Sarah gave up whatever hope she'd had left. Charley had a ring and, unlike the last time she woke up next to him, her own finger was bare. Sarah closed her eyes again.

It came back in stages, the memories of last night. Aching in a way that was better than usual, Sarah let the images come, wishing desperately that she could close herself to them Charley lifting up her shirt and unclasping her bra. Charley, allowing himself to be pushed onto the bed. Charley, looking worried for half a second because jeans that should've been skin tight were too easy for her to get out of.

The distraction was momentary. In flashes, Sarah recalled their exploration of each other. Time had dulled some of the details, she'd almost forgotten about his tattoo. His upper arm was usually covered, and she rarely saw the thing.

A small buzzing noise came from her right, breaking Sarah out of the moment. Equal parts grateful and angry, she left the bed without waking Charley. Chilled without the blankets or his body heat, Sarah hastily snatched up what she could find of her clothing. Her phone was with her jacket, on the bed that hadn't been used. By the time she answered her cell, Sarah was zipping her jeans and throwing her shirt over her head. She couldn't find her bra.

"What?" she snapped, voice low as she stepped over Charley's belt.

There was a pause on the other end. Then Ellison's voice. He sounded surprised. "You didn't wait for the code."

Sonuva… Quickly tapping in the number, Sarah brought the phone back to her ear. "_What?"_

"Good morning to you too. Savannah's been asking for you."

That got Sarah's attention. "Is she all right? The fever-"

"Whatever she had seems to be out of her system, for the most part. She's tired and the cough's still there, but not nearly as bad as it was. Fever's gone completely."

Sighing in relief, Sarah allowed herself to relax a little. "Did she stay asleep last night, did she have nightmares?"

"Medicine knocked her out completely, so yes, she stayed asleep. Apparently, she wasn't the only one. We were supposed to meet at the cars an hour ago."

Fuck. "Is there a reason you didn't call me an hour ago?"

"Savannah was watching cartoons. And I hoped the extra sleep might improve your disposition."

"Are you implying that I'm cranky?" Sarah asked, scanning the floor for her socks.

"Now where would I get an idea like that?"

"We'll be outside in ten minutes."

Ending the call, Sarah located her socks and slipped into them before turning her attention to Charley. Part of her wanted to shake him awake and then run as fast as possible. Instead, she stood over him for a moment, watching. There were small marks where her nails had cut into his shoulders. Last night hadn't been like any of the other times. On one hand, it was the same. They fit together the same way; there was the same element of tenderness. On the other hand, everything was different. There was an urgency, a desperation that'd never been present before.

Shaking herself mentally, Sarah touched Charley's shoulder. She called his name softly, even though she should've shook him awake and barked like a drill sergeant until he got moving. Seeing Charley roll onto his back, Sarah hastily removed her hand. She should've turned away right then, but she didn't. Her mistake.

Her mistake, because Charley was exactly where she'd been five minutes ago, half-asleep and dreaming of things long gone. She knew from the way he looked at her. His eyes were blurry, but shining with an open adoration that was enough to make her breath catch. He wore that sweet half-smile that'd won him a chance in the first place. Charley was gazing at her with love and nothing else. No sadness, no anger, no resentment. Sarah hadn't seen that look in a very long time. She savored it, even as it ripped her open.

And then reality set in for him too. Sarah watched his eyes move past her, watched him take in his surroundings for the first time. That look she hadn't seen since the morning she ran, it started to fade. Sarah turned away. She was weak, she couldn't stand watching the love get overtaken by all the other stuff between them.

"Time to go, Charley." Back to him, Sarah wasn't sure whether Charley heard. She thought some of the pain might've slipped into her voice, but she couldn't know for certain, nor did she want to.

"Yeah. Okay." Sarah was already striding away from him. Closing his eyes, Charley rubbed at them hard, trying to regain control.

He'd seen her standing over him, and there'd been just the hint of a smile. He doubted Sarah even knew that her lips were quirked. It was a smile laced with sadness, but Sarah Reese sometimes looked that way. Charley had resolved to do everything he could about that sadness, especially after the marriage. Then he'd remembered. There wouldn't be a marriage. His fiancé didn't exist.

God. He'd been on the point of telling her to call the diner and get back in bed, there were other girls to serve Hal Beasley his scrambled eggs.

Jesus.

"Morning," he greeted, trying not to sound awkward as he left the bed and began searching the floor for his clothes. Thank God she wasn't looking at him.

"Morning." Sarah focused on repacking last night's groceries, trying not to think of what went on early this morning. "No time for a shower, sorry."

"No, not your fault."

They'd overslept. Charley hadn't overslept since before he saw a naked Sarah Connor running across a highway. Snatching up his jeans, he tried not to picture Sarah last night. Naked and vulnerable and the same as she'd been the last time they made love, even though she was completely different. Everything was different. And yet it'd been so easy to touch her again, to fall into old patterns. He hadn't thought of Michelle once, not after they put the gun away. He thought of her now. Charley couldn't even fool himself into thinking that Michelle would want this, for him to be happy. Their marriage was in trouble before Cromartie took her. Maybe, _maybe _Michelle would've wanted him to move on, be happy for whatever time was left. But not with Sarah. Charley could not, even in his most charitable fantasies, make himself think that Michelle would be okay with what he and Sarah had done.

Without wanting to, Sarah thought of Kyle. That other night, in that other motel. There'd been that same combination of urgency and tenderness. However, there were also differences. With Reese, there'd been a certain amount of guiding on her part, since Kyle hadn't been with anyone else. She'd had to show him certain things, where and how to touch. Last night, there was none of that. In six months, Charley had learned all he needed to know about her responses, and eight years didn't seem to have weakened his memory. When the other men were touching her, the ones she used to get what she needed, Sarah used to attempt a complete tune out. However, some of the men demanded more. In that case, Sarah would shut her eyes and picture Reese and do her best to pretend. She'd gotten used to picturing Reese. She hadn't thought of him last night, not after Charley kissed her that first time.

Sarah never felt guilty about the other men. They were an unpleasant but necessary component of the mission. Use them, learn from them, use that knowledge to protect John. Kyle would've understood, it was for their son. She hadn't felt guilty about the other men, but she'd felt some unease about Charley. In the beginning, there were notions of dishonoring Reese's memory, but those had faded. The mission was over. No more Cyberdyne, no more Skynet. She'd done what was needed, even if it took twelve long years. She hadn't known Kyle as well as she'd wanted to, but Sarah was sure he would've wanted her to be happy, her and John. They'd earned a little happiness.

This was different. John was gone, but the mission remained. She was supposed to be focused on Judgment Day, and right now all Sarah could focus on was avoiding Charley's eyes. Last night had been wonderful and sad and a million other things, and it could never happen again.

They moved in silence, Sarah found her bra half-hidden under the bed and retreated to the bathroom. When she returned, Charley was dressed in the emergency clothes from the boat. He was in the process of slipping on a new shirt and, much as she'd tried to avoid it, Sarah couldn't help starting a conversation.

"What happened to your back?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your back," Sarah repeated as Charley turned to look at her. "There's a scar, there wasn't one before." She'd noticed last night, but preoccupation kept her from asking.

"Oh," Charley replied, needlessly pulling at the edges of his shirt. "It was nothing, small accident with the bike."

Sarah watched from the corner of her eye as he stuffed yesterday's clothes into a duffel bag. "Small accident left quite a mark."

Charley shrugged as he got to his feet, throwing his bag next to the door. "Not much of a mark, not compared to some of yours."

Sarah sat down at the table to get her boots on, using the laces as an excuse not to look at him. Reese had been covered in scars. She'd taken the time to kiss as many as she could reach, even though both of them had felt that near-unbearable urgency, that need to come together as quickly as possible. Reese had looked shocked by her acts of caring, but he hadn't shed tears over them. Charley had paid special attention to the scars last night, the ones Sarah asked him to ignore when they first became intimate. He hadn't asked for stories or explanations last night, but he'd given the marks attention, disregarding the request from years ago. Unlike Reese, Sarah had shed a few tears at Charley's attempts to soothe old hurts.

"I'm glad you're okay, that, it wasn't bad."

"No, not bad. What about you, are you okay?"

Sarah blinked hard. She couldn't get the laces of her right boot squared away. Charley always worried for her, even though he shouldn't anymore. "I'm okay." The words sounded different on her lips than they had in her head. Clearing her throat, Sarah forced herself to meet his gaze. "I'm good."

"Good. That's…I'm glad."

Sarah nodded, finally mastering the intricacies of shoe-tying. The images kept coming. She'd held herself back last night, for as long as possible. Partially because she'd anticipated this, the awkwardness that'd never been an issue when they became lovers in Nebraska. She'd wanted to prolong the night, the feelings, even though the feelings scared the hell out of her. That was the other reason she'd held back. There were so many emotions, too many, and they'd been building on each other for too long. Charley's voice had been in her ear, murmuring encouragements, but Sarah was still terrified. The physical crash would be overwhelming by itself, but the emotional one promised to be worse.

Charley had no way of knowing how close his thoughts were to Sarah's. Asking her if she was okay had taken his mind somewhere it shouldn't be, somewhere unsafe. He'd held back last night because it was habit, because he wanted to be sure Sarah was taken care of. He'd held back as long as he could, but it'd been a long while and Sarah knew what she was doing. More importantly, he'd known that she was holding back. Grazing the same edge he was, Sarah had tried hiding her face against his neck. Charley wasn't sure why, not at first. He'd seen that look before, they'd both seen the other fall apart. Then he realized how wrong he was. He _hadn't _seen her that way, not really, there were always the secrets between them. This was real and raw and more honest than they'd ever been, and Charley suddenly realized that he couldn't let her hide this time. He was coming apart as quickly as she was, and he needed to see her when she did. He'd made love to Sarah Reese before, but he needed to see Sarah Connor.

The tequila and cigarettes were still on the table. If Charley weren't here, Sarah would've gratefully indulged in a swig or three, never mind the cheap alarm clock reminding her that it was eight in the morning. But if Charley weren't here, she wouldn't really need the drink at all. Cursing herself, Sarah pushed off from the table, moving to the unused bed where her jacket still lay. Charley wasn't talking, but his voice was still in her ear. He'd demanded that she look at him, and Sarah realized then that they were in the same place. Not just physically, emotionally as well. That should've been enough, yet she'd still feared losing control in front of him, losing it completely. Then Charley's hand had slipped between their bodies, and he kept telling her that she was safe, and whether she believed him or not, Sarah could no longer fight her own reactions. She'd lost control, in every possible way, and seconds later, Charley did the same.

A shiver ran through her body. Snatching up her jacket, Sarah slipped her arms through the sleeves, using the familiar smell of leather as a steadying force. She felt Charley move past her, but said nothing.

Pulling open the drawer of the nightstand, Charley tried not to recall the feeling of Sarah tightening around him. Taking hold of his gun, he gripped it tightly for several moments before something occurred to him. Sarah remained near the foot of the bed, and Charley sought her eyes for the first time in awhile. 'Sarah."

His tone made her nervous. "What?"

"We didn't…I didn't use anything."

Sarah's lips twisted in a wry half-smile. Charley, always worried. There hadn't been anything the last time she was in a place like this either. "It's not an issue."

Charley frowned as she walked towards him, holding out a hand. After a moment, he reached back into the drawer, handing Sarah her own weapon.

Nodding her thanks, Sarah concentrated on hiding her gun under her clothes, glad of the excuse to avoid his gaze. "John, the birth, things got damaged. I told you that." It was a long time ago, but some part of her expected him to remember. He'd certainly lingered long enough on that C-section scar before complying with her wishes and letting his mouth go lower.

Charley's heart broke as she motioned vaguely at her abdomen, the hint of a grimace on her face. Sarah _had _told him that, years ago. She knew he wanted kids, she'd thought it would be a deal breaker.

Sarah looked up as Charley looked down. "I…I tried not to lie to you about the important things." It was a ridiculous thing to say. Rather than witness his reaction, Sarah turned away, tugging at her shirt to conceal a gun that was already hidden.

Charley wanted to follow, to say something. Instead, he took care of his own weapon. Just as he got the firearm situated beneath his clothes, there was a knock at the door.

The arrival of Savannah and Ellison forestalled any more awkwardness, or at least lessened it. The child, blurry-eyed and clutching her stuffed turtle, went straight into Charley's arms.

"I'm still tired," she said, speaking quietly because she didn't want Aunt Sarah to hear.

"You can sleep in the car," he said, kissing her forehead and feeling relieved that her temperature seemed normal again.

Meanwhile, Ellison and Sarah were grabbing up their belongings. "Sorry. I stalled as long as I could, but she wanted to see you."

"You shouldn't have stalled at all," Sarah retorted, picking up one of the grocery bags.

"Shouldn't I?" Ellison's eyes roamed meaningfully over the one bed that was in disarray, then returned to the table, with its tequila bottle and cigarette carton.

Glaring, Sarah snatched up the alcohol, placing it into the bag. He could play detective now, but when he'd been working for the liquid metal bitch…

On her feet again, Savannah made her way over to them, Charley trailing behind. "Aunt Sarah, smoking's bad for you."

Fuck. "You're right," Sarah replied. With regrets, she handed the grocery bag to Charley before dumping the cigarettes into the bathroom garbage can. She wouldn't have smoked them, but having them in her pocket seemed to help with stress. And she could've used some help with stress.

Using his free hand, Charley grabbed his duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He'd barely looked at Sarah as she passed him the grocery bag, but Savannah's next words forced them to make eye contact.

"You're going to drive with us, right? With me and Uncle Charley?"

The girl's voice held an edge of panic. She'd managed without them for most of last night, but the attack at the lighthouse clearly still affected her. "Yes," Sarah replied, after a subtle look from Charley. "Yeah, I'll drive with you."

* * *

><p>The ride to the desert felt longer than it was. Savannah was tired, but wouldn't sleep. Sarah tried to teach the kid Bug Slug, but Savannah's interest was negligible. In his first words to the brunette since they'd left, Charley commented that he'd always heard the game referred to as Slug Bug.<p>

"It's Bug Slug."

"Okay."

A beat of silence. "It can be Slug Bug, if you want."

"No, sounds better the other way."

"Sure?"

"Yeah." Another beat of silence. "I know people who called it Punch Buggy."

"Let's just call it Bug Slug."

"Okay."

"Are you fighting again?" Savannah asked, well-used to the overly cheerful voices that sometimes came into play when the adults were trying not to act mad in front of her.

"No," Charley replied.

"We're not fighting," Sarah added. "Do you need to use the bathroom?" she asked, spotting a gas station coming up on their right.

"No," Savannah replied.

"Are you sure?" Charley persisted, desperate for an excuse to leave this truck for a few minutes, to put space between himself and Sarah.

"I went before we left."

Momentary silence. "Do you want some food?" Sarah asked.

There was plenty of junk food in the grocery bags, and the bags were right next to her on the seat, but Savannah felt that Aunt Sarah was looking for a different answer. "Yes please."

Ellison pulled in behind them because Sarah wouldn't allow anything else. She seemed to think him incapable of finding the safehouse if she wasn't leading him there. He stood outside his car and waited, not commenting on how they didn't need gas, or on Sarah's seeming inability to look her ex-fiancé in the eye.

"Can I get this?" Savannah asked, holding up a bag of candy.

Sarah's 'no' came right on top of Charley's 'yes.'

"Get something healthy," Sarah ordered.

"It's a gas station," Charley observed. "What's she going to find that's healthy?"

Unwilling to concede defeat, Sarah scanned the shelf, holding up an organic nature bar. "Get this."

"That looks yucky."

It did, actually. Sarah tossed the bar aside, shrugging in exasperation. "Get the candy. And don't complain when your teeth fall out."

Savannah frowned. "They're baby teeth, won't they fall out anyway."

"Just grab your candy."

Savannah did. "Can I pay for it?"

"If you want," Charley replied, finding his wallet and handing over twenty dollars for the single bag of sweets.

Savannah looked at the money, looked back and forth at the tense adults who supposedly weren't fighting. "Can I keep the change?" she asked, trying a smile.

"No," Sarah replied firmly, though her lips curved upward.

"Get up there," Charley ordered, playfully shoving the girl towards the checkout counter.

"Isn't it a little early for her to develop a smartass streak?" Sarah asked, hanging back while Savannah waited in line behind one other person.

Charley shrugged. "You're her role model."

Sarah grimaced. "Don't blame it on me, she's with you every day."

"And still she takes after you. You tend to leave an impression." He smiled a little and she returned it, and then the smile faded. Her gaze returned to Savannah and Charley held back a sigh. "Are we going to talk about it?" he asked, running nervous fingers through his hair.

Catching her lip between her teeth, Sarah attempted to stay neutral. "Are we?"

The response surprised him, he'd expected flat-out refusal. "Do we need to?"

"You brought it up," Sarah replied. Taking a breath, she tried keeping the edge out of her voice. "We can't keep doing what we're doing. Savannah…"

"Yeah." Savannah needed them. The girl had enough to deal with without wondering what was happening with the adults in her life. Charley watched her accept change from the cashier. "Do you regret it?"

Sarah ducked her head, even though Charley wasn't looking at her. "It shouldn't have happened," she replied, walking away from him to lead Savannah out of the store.

* * *

><p>Charley was tight-lipped and stone-faced by the time they reached the safehouse. Sarah tried catching his gaze a few times during the drive, but he wouldn't have it. He kept his eyes on the scenery, getting paler as they got further into the desert.<p>

"Three bedrooms," Sarah announced as they stepped into their new residence.

"Guess that means someone's sleeping on the couch," Ellison commented, knowing the response he would get.

"I can sleep on the couch," Savannah offered.

Sarah shook her head. "You're the second door down the hall."

Raising his eyebrows, Charley locked eyes with Ellison. "Flip you for it?"

"Take the room next to hers," Sarah ordered, not allowing Ellison to speak.

"Sarah," Charley began.

But Sarah was already moving away from him. "Take. The room. Get unpacked, we eat in half an hour."

"What are we having?" Savannah asked, following Sarah into the kitchen.

"Pancakes."

The redhead frowned. "It's dinnertime, you can't have pancakes for dinner."

"You can't? Who says?"

"I don't know, it's a rule."

"It's not one of my rules."

Savannah nodded, considering that response. "Can we have waffles instead? Uncle Charley makes good waffles."

Sarah stopped short. Waffles? They couldn't have waffles. Every time she and John moved somewhere new, the first meal was always pancakes. But John wasn't here, was he?

Charley stepped in, hating the look on Sarah's face. "Pancakes tonight, honey. We'll have waffles for breakfast tomorrow."

"Can we have dinner food for breakfast? We're allowed to have breakfast food for dinner."

"If we do that," Charley said, "you won't get your waffles."

"She can have waffles," Sarah stated. "She wants waffles, she can have waffles."

Charley wasn't buying it. "I don't feel like making them. You'll eat pancakes, right Savannah?"

She would, if doing so would make Aunt Sarah happy. "Yes, I like pancakes."

"But tonight you'd like waffles," Sarah pressed.

"She said she wanted pancakes," Charley retorted.

Ellison shook his head, fighting off a smirk. "You could make both."

"Charley just said he didn't want to cook," Sarah argued.

"I did," Charley agreed, addressing Sarah. "And you're still talking about me making waffles."

Sarah didn't have a response for that. Ellison took advantage of the silence. "I'm going to finish unloading the cars. Savannah, why don't you come with me?" At the girl's enthusiastic nod, Ellison held out his hand and waited for her by the door. "Good. Let's let Uncle Charley and Aunt Sarah figure this out in peace." Ignoring Sarah's dirty look, Ellison gratefully stepped outside.

* * *

><p>They ate pancakes. Charley promised to make waffles first thing in the morning. A few hours after their arrival, he tried putting Savannah to bed, but the girl wouldn't sleep without a goodnight from Sarah. And so it was that Charley found himself tapping lightly on her door, unsurprised to find the brunette on the floor with a rifle in her lap.<p>

"Hey," he greeted, stepping tentatively into the room. "Savannah wants to say goodnight."

"You think she'll sleep?" Sarah asked, setting the gun aside.

"Hopefully she'll try. If not, you have any good bedtime stories?"

Sarah thought about John, how he'd always ask for another story, another, another, desperate to keep her attention. She thought about the nightmares that sometimes came after she'd finished spinning her tales. "I'm sorry."

Frowning, Charley tilted his head sideways. "For what?"

"This," she said, gesturing vaguely at her window. "The location. I didn't think."

Had he been that transparent? Apparently so. The truth was, Charley hadn't thought either, hadn't considered what a trek to the desert would do to him. Cromartie took Michelle to the desert, where she died. She'd been dead in that van, long before they'd reached the hospital. He'd watched the desert go by today, in the truck with Sarah, replaying Michelle's last moments in his head. Near the end, she could do nothing but breathe his name out. Sarah did the same last night, gasping out his name as she came apart.

"It's okay," Charley replied.

The hitch in his voice, the strained smile he was trying to muster, Sarah couldn't take either of those things. "You don't have to do that. Pretend."

"Don't I?" Charley asked. Stepping forward, he sat on the floor in front of her, keeping a good bit of space between them. "Isn't that what you do, tell yourself its okay, even if it's not? Isn't that how you survived all this?"

Sarah picked up the gun again, along with the cleaning rag. Most days, she hadn't the faintest idea how she'd survived all this. "I'll go to Savannah in a minute."

Charley nodded, scanning his surroundings. "Is that all?" he asked, indicating the rifle. "I expected more."

"There are more, but not enough." Most of their things had been left at the old safehouses, and it was too dangerous to retrieve them with Kaliba sniffing around. "We'll need weapons, documentation. I'll work on that tomorrow."

Charley waited a few moments before answering. "You didn't eat much at dinner. When you get the papers-"

"I'll make the appointment. Do you-"

"I'm still going with you."

Blinking repeatedly, Sarah twisted the cleaning rag and looked into Charley's face. "You never said whether or not you regretted it."

Charley swallowed hard, throat tight. "You never let me."

"I know. If I had…"

Slowly, Charley got to his feet, trying to banish images of last night, images of last year, images of Michelle perishing in a stolen van in the middle of the desert. "It shouldn't have happened," he said, a copy of Sarah's earlier response.

He was turning away. Sarah should've let him. "Charley."

He turned again, frowning at her tone, at the look on her face.

"What I said this morning, it was true. The important things…I tried not to lie."

Sighing, Charley retraced his steps. "So. What were the important things? Besides cyborgs from the future, what else was there?"

She shouldn't say it. It was the absolute wrong thing to say. Sarah could hear Derek in her head, pointing out the obvious. "What I told you right before I left, that was important."

Charley remembered that morning with too much clarity. They were in bed, discussing John's role in the choosing of her engagement ring.

"_You think I'm a jackass, don't you?"_

"_I'm thinking I love you."_

"You remember that, right? That part was never a lie." Fuck. God dammit to hell, she needed to shut up. Right the hell now.

Charley couldn't move right away. It took a few seconds for him to kneel in front of her. He touched her cheek to make her look up, like he had last night when she tried hiding her face in his shoulder. "I remember," he said softly, offering her a crooked smile. "You asked me to, right?"

She had. Sarah returned the smile. She didn't know which of them initiated it, who leaned forward, but suddenly her lips were on Charley's again. Dropping the gun rag, Sarah gently cupped the back of his neck, shifting enough that the empty rifle fell off her lap and hit the carpet.

Charley deepened the kiss, knowing that he shouldn't. Last night had released something, changed everything. He was starved for her, and Sarah's responses were only worsening the hunger. She smelled like she used to, with a tinge of gun oil mixed in.

Sarah let him map her mouth, cursing herself for allowing this. She'd been indescribably lonely since the basement at Zeira Corp. She'd been lonely in Nebraska, not realizing the strength of that emotion until Charley smiled at her over his coffee cup. Her loneliness had eventually destroyed his life. She couldn't do this again, shouldn't want to. She buried a hand in his hair, answering the pressure of his lips.

"Aunt Sarah?"

Savannah was in the next room. Sarah turned so that Charley was kissing her cheek, as if that would erase what'd happened, get rid of the tingling on her lips.

Charley pulled away, getting to his feet and swearing at himself. "I'll…I'll tell her you'll be there in a minute."

"Thank you," Sarah replied, not moving from her place on the floor. She was back to not being able to look at him.

"I think..I think I'm going to turn in too. Long couple of days."

"Yeah."

"Try and get some rest, okay?"

"I will. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Sarah."

Even in separate beds with Savannah's room in between them, neither of them got much sleep that night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **So, this one's a little more family-esque and a little less shippy-esque than I originally planned. There was a whole scene that materialized out of nowhere, and by the time that was added, the chapter was getting too long. As a result, a lot of Charley/Sarah moments will have to wait until next time. The good news is, 'next time' has been in my head for awhile now, so it shouldn't take too long to write up.

The character that's brought in here, the general situation, and some of the lines in the final scene of the chapter, I can't really take credit for them. They were part of an earlier draft of the Terminator 2 script. As with a lot of things in this fic, I took ideas from smarter, more creative people, and twisted them for my own purposes.

* * *

><p>Three days after their move to the desert, Sarah was going stir crazy. She'd found new sympathy for John and the restlessness he'd battled while they got settled after the time jump. The state of limbo, the period between one name and another, it wasn't usually so hard for her to take. But these last two days had been difficult. She'd gotten used to living with Ellison back in L.A., but that was a different situation. She'd been alone with Ellison, free to vent her frustration on him whenever she desired. Now there was Savannah to consider. As quickly and inexplicably as Sarah had become 'Aunt Sarah,' Mr. Ellison had become 'Uncle James.' Sarah imagined it had something to do with leaving the girl in his care that night at the motel. Part of Sarah thought that she shouldn't have done that, the childish, irrational part that was unfairly jealous that Ellison had achieved the same status as her. And Charley. Charley. Of all the things Sarah shouldn't have done at that motel, letting Ellison babysit was near the bottom of the list.<p>

Sarah could no longer be so free with her dirty looks or nasty comments towards Ellison, not with Savannah around. The lack of a verbal punching bag worsened her state of unease, but didn't cause it. That was all on Sarah herself, and Charley. By silent agreement, they'd decided not to discuss the motel, or the kiss. They weren't fighting exactly, but the act they put on for Savannah was still something of an act. Combined with furtive looks from Ellison and the usual difficulties of constructing a life from the ground up, all this was making Sarah restless, irritable and agitated, even by her standards.

On that third day of their life that didn't exist yet, Sarah left her bedroom and entered the main living area. There was a bag of Ellison's clothes by the couch, and she glared at it. It wasn't as if he could do anything else since she hadn't given him a room, but still. Derek and Cameron were gone, and there was no one else for Sarah to vent her anger on without feeling guilty. Despite that, Sarah found herself softening to him. Partly because Charley kept nagging her about it, partly because Ellison didn't snore or talk in his sleep like Derek had, mostly because the ex-agent made Savannah smile. And making Savannah smile had gotten considerably more challenging since that last day at the lighthouse.

Crossing to the kitchen, Sarah made herself a cup of coffee. Leaning against the counter, she savored the bitter liquid, even as it burned her lips. It was far too easy for her to think back a few days, imagine Charley's lips pressing against hers. Fortunately, Savannah's appearance kept her from getting too deep into thoughts she shouldn't be having.

"Good morning," the child greeted, rubbing her eyes as she sat down at the table.

"Morning to you," Sarah replied, mouth curving in a smile. Savannah was still in pajamas, but she'd obviously made an attempt at doing her own braids. All her training aside, that skill continued to elude her. "Bad hair day?" Sarah teased.

Savannah looked down, studying the table. "I tried on my own, but it's hard."

Sarah closed her eyes. Damn kid was so eager to please, as if Sarah's approval hinged entirely on the girl's ability to complete tasks set to her. Moving to the table, Sarah pulled up a chair next to Savannah, playfully flipping one of the braids. "It is," she said, fighting an urge to add that hair was the hardest thing to get right. She'd thought after three months that Cameron's stupid little sayings would be out of her head. "My roommate and I, we used to spend forever on our hair."

Savannah looked at Sarah quizzically. The way her hair was now, the way Aunt Sarah always talked about all the things she had to do, Savannah couldn't fathom Sarah caring so much about her hair. "Why did you take so long?"

Because she'd had the ability to do so back then, before Reese and the robots descended. "There was a lot of hairspray involved. I had another friend who wore her hair in a Mohawk, took her longer than us to get it right."

"What's a Mohawk look like?"

"Never mind."

"Maybe when I get better at braiding, I'll get my hair cut like that someday."

"No, you won't. And don't worry about the braids, you'll figure it out."

"But you'll help, right? Until I do?"

"I'll help."

Savannah nodded happily, recalling the problems she'd had with tying her shoes. Aunt Sarah always said she was smart, so Savannah liked to think she would've learned on her own eventually. But Mommy, the pretend one, the one who left, she'd had no patience. Even though she'd scolded Savannah for the same thing, the mommy who left didn't have patience either. Savannah still remembered Dr. Sherman's office, not being able to tie her shoe. Mommy had done it for her, but that hadn't made Savannah happy. Aunt Sarah, she helped, but she also let Savannah learn on her own. John, Aunt Sarah's son, he'd helped Savannah tie her shoe. Savannah might've mentioned this, but talking about John seemed to make Aunt Sarah sad. Aunt Sarah was smiling at her now, and Savannah didn't want that to change.

"Can I have some coffee?" Savannah asked, watching the older woman sip from her cup.

"Why would you want coffee?" Sarah chuckled, cradling her mug between her fingers.

"You drink it, Uncle Charley drinks it."

"Charley and I are grown-ups, never mind that he does a worse job on those braids than you do."

Recognizing the teasing for what it was, Savannah smiled this time. "Maybe you could teach both of us to do it."

"Maybe. Are you hungry?" Savannah nodded. "I'll make pancakes."

Savannah tilted her head sideways. "Uncle Charley says he doesn't understand how you can do all the stuff you do without knowing how to cook more than one thing."

"Is that what he says. Uncle Charley and I need to have a talk then, don't we?"

"He only said it because I asked him."

"Well, that's much better then." Resisting the urge to defend her cooking skills to a six-year-old, Sarah set down her coffee and left the table. Walking behind Savannah's chair, Sarah gently removed the bands from her hair, stashing them in her own pocket. "We'll fix your hair after breakfast. Maybe you can convince Charley to make French toast."

"I'm thirsty now. Are you sure I can't have coffee."

"Very sure," Sarah replied, heading towards the fridge.

"Can I have chocolate milk?"

"We'll see," Sarah teased, already pulling out milk and chocolate syrup.

"I can show you how to make it," Savannah offered, tone serious.

"Thanks. Been awhile, but I think I remember how it's done."

Sarah made the beverage and gave it to Savannah, trying not to laugh at the girl's solemn expression. "So," she asked, leaning against the table as the redhead took her first swallow. "What's the verdict?"

"Better than Uncle's James's," Savannah pronounced, nodding her approval.

"Yeah?"

Savannah nodded again. "He doesn't put in enough chocolate, yours is better."

"You've just made my week." She'd brought a napkin with the milk, and Sarah used it now to get rid of the mustache gracing Savannah's upper lip. They sat in easy silence for a few moments, until Sarah noticed how much Savannah was blinking, how heavy her eyes seemed to be. "Did you sleep much last night?"

Shrugging, the girl gazed into the depths of her milk glass. "Bad dreams," she mumbled before meeting Sarah's eyes again. "Uncle Charley says dreams can't hurt me, but sometimes I think he's wrong."

Sarah tended to agree. In fact, she tended to think that Charley didn't buy into his own platitudes. She should've lied, said something reassuring, but some days were harder than others when it came to the lying. "He's not wrong, not really, but maybe he is a little bit." Because if the nightmares kept coming for long enough, eventually they started to hurt more than the physical pains.

Savannah was fairly sure that that didn't make any sense, yet somehow she thought that it did. "You said Uncle Charley was smart," she pointed out, recalling a conversation just after Aunt Sarah got hurt.

"He is."

"But now you're saying he might be wrong."

The kid hadn't slept much and Sarah hadn't given her coffee. How was it that Savannah had the energy for all these questions? "Smart people can be wrong. Everyone can be wrong sometimes."

"Even you?"

"Let's not go there."

After a few more beats of silence, "I don't like it here."

"You don't? Why not?" As if she needed an answer. Savannah had loved Charley's place. The lighthouse itself was enough to make the property magical to a six-year-old, never mind the beach and the pleasant temperatures. This place was hot and desolate and not the ideal playground for a child.

"I don't like my bed, and I miss my old room." Her new room was bare, practically empty. The drawings and the posters and everything Uncle Charley bought to decorate her room were gone now, out of reach. And her bed wasn't the same without Buddy sleeping next to it. "I heard dogs last night, they kept me awake.

"They're not dogs, they're coyotes. And they won't hurt you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Savannah nodded hesitantly. "Can we…can we do something for Buddy? My friend at school had a dog, and when he died, they buried him in the backyard."

She'd forgotten about Buddy, forgotten how attached Savannah was to the animal. "Savannah, he's…we can't go back there."

"I know. I know we can't go back to Uncle Charley's house, but can't we do something anyway?"

Sarah hated to think it, but she knew the kid would probably lose plenty more friends in the coming years. There wouldn't always be an opportunity for proper mourning, a proper burial. "We can do that." Grabbing Savannah's empty milk glass, Sarah crossed to the sink and rinsed it out. Desperate to keep the girl in a somewhat decent mood, she said, "I think we can do something about your room, too."

Savannah's face lit up. "Can I have toys?" All she had now were the things Uncle Charley made her keep on the boat, in case something bad happened.

Sarah rolled her eyes good-naturedly, facing Savannah and leaning against the sink. "You can have toys. Some, not a whole store's worth. What else do you want in your room?"

Eagerly, Savannah told her, talking fast for several minutes while she described what she wanted her new space to look like. Then, abruptly, the subject changed and the girl was nervous again. "Is it bad that I was scared when the bad men came again?"

"No," Sarah replied gently. "No, Savannah."

"Uncle Charley made me run ahead of him," Savannah continued, like she was confiding a dirty secret. "I didn't want to, he made me. He said I should always run ahead if…"

"Charley did the right thing, and so did you. All right?"

The girl nodded, without looking convinced. "When he made me go in front of him, I thought he wasn't going to get to the boat. I thought they were going to hurt him, like your other friend. I was scared."

Sarah closed her eyes against bad memories. Derek dead in Weaver's home. Her own paralyzing fear that Charley and Savannah would be dead too. "You might've been scared, but you were brave, too. You did what we taught you to do, and that was very, very, brave."

Sarah's words eased her fear, but didn't abate it. "Are we staying here forever?"

"We're staying as long as we can." Sarah hedged. "Hopefully for awhile."

Savannah nodded and stared at the table again. Her vision was blurry and she didn't want Aunt Sarah noticing the tears. "Until the bad people come again."

It was a statement, not a question. Voiced with the same certainty young Marty Bedell displayed when he talked of the terminator coming to kill him. As with Marty, the certainty in Savannah's voice broke something in Sarah, while simultaneously hardening her resolve. Crossing back to Savannah, Sarah knelt by the girl's chair, waiting for her to look up.

"Hey," she said, quiet but firm as she wiped Savannah's tears away. She needed the girl to see her face as she talked. "Listen to me. I'm not going to tell you that we won't have to move, that the bad people won't come again." Savannah tried looking away and Sarah caught her chin with gentle fingers. "No one's going to hurt you. I'm here, Charley's here-"

"And Uncle James?"

Another time, Sarah might've scolded her for interrupting. "And Uncle James," she confirmed. "Charley, Uncle James and I, we're not going to let anyone hurt you. You hear me, you understand?"

Savannah nodded before realizing that Aunt Sarah needed more. "I understand," she said, somewhat surprised that she actually meant it.

"Smart kid," Sarah replied, kissing the girl's temple and wiping away the last of the tears. It wasn't until she stood up that she noticed Charley.

They locked eyes. Charley had hung back in the hallway as long as possible, telling himself he wasn't eavesdropping. Sarah walked over to him, and he should've felt nervous, but he didn't.

"You're staring."

Charley didn't deny it. Savannah had twisted in her seat to look at him, and the first thing he noticed was the lack of fear. He'd been trying to reassure the kid for months. The lighthouse made it worse, but she'd been scared for a long time, probably longer than he cared to consider. And for all his daily promises of safety, Charley had been unable to help. He understood why the John of the future was meant to be such a great leader, why people listened to him.

"Have you seen Elli…James?"

Charley smiled and forced himself to quit scrutinizing her so heavily. "He got in the shower after I finished."

Sarah cast an annoyed glance at the duffel bag by the couch. "If he uses all the hot water-"

"I warned him."

"Good. You see him again, tell him to get some shoes on. We're burying the dog and I want it done before the heat gets too bad."

* * *

><p>It was understood that burying didn't actually mean burying. The best they could do was mark a spot and stand over it for a bit, acknowledging Buddy's death. It seemed to be enough for the child; it was certainly more than Sarah was used to. No funeral for either of the Reese brothers, no way of attending Dyson's. She'd run so fast, she'd missed her own mother's service. Too many lives lost, even the dog had died, trying to protect his family.<p>

Savannah cried silently with Charley's arms clasped over her shoulders. Ellison stood just behind him, a detail not lost on Charley. They'd held similar positions at Michelle's funeral. Charley was trying not to relive that day in his mind, not to hear the priest's empty words of comfort.

Sarah stood next to Charley, but kept herself slightly apart from him. She made herself sneak glances at his face, at the pain there that had nothing to do with a dead pet. John had gone to him in the hospital that day, Sarah had not. Even if Charley had allowed her anywhere near him, she probably wouldn't have gone. It was too raw, she couldn't have faced the evidence of what loving her had done to him. She couldn't have faced it then, could barely face it now, but still forced herself to sneak the glances, to witness his pain.

Eventually, Ellison suggested that they go back inside. It was too hot out here, and there was nothing more to do for the dog. Savannah ran in ahead of them, breaking free of Charley's hold. She wanted to have her tears under control when the adults came in.

Ellison followed at a deliberately slow pace, giving Savannah time. Charley didn't move. He stared at the patch of dirt designated as Buddy's grave and did nothing else. Cautiously, Sarah closed the gap between them.

"We should go," she said, attempting to keep her voice even as she stared into the tortured lines of his face.

"Go ahead," Charley replied. "I'll be there in a second."

The distance in his voice, the way he refused to look at her, it was enough to send Sarah walking back towards the house. She got half a dozen steps before giving herself a gut check and turning around. She'd left him once before, refusing to face the consequences. She couldn't do that again.

Charley didn't even realize she was back until her hand touched his forearm. He looked up in surprise, pulled from his morbid thoughts. Her hand was sweaty and rough with calluses. It burned him, even as he reveled in the feel of it.

Sarah didn't mean for her hand to slip down his arm. She didn't mean to clasp his fingers. They were slick with moisture, toughened by self-defense lessons with her and manual work on the boat. His wedding ring felt unnaturally hot as Sarah's fingers brushed against it. Lightly, Sarah squeezed the fingers clasped in hers. "I'm sorry, Charley."

Charley didn't know what to say. She'd apologized dozens of times before, but only with her eyes. She'd apologized the night she brought Savannah, but she'd been distracted then, reeling from John's loss. She'd also followed up that apology by demanding that he foster a kidnapped girl who was a complete stranger to him. In his own state of shock over Sarah's reappearance, over John's disappearance, Charley barely noticed the apology. "I know," he replied, squeezing her fingers for half a second before slipping out of her grip and walking away.

He wanted to tell her it was okay, that it wasn't her fault. Part of him believed that. But some days were harder than others, and these last few, caught between memories of the wife he'd loved and the fiancé he'd loved more, these last few days had been tough indeed.

* * *

><p>Breakfast was a quiet affair. Savannah sniffled occasionally while pecking away at her French toast and the rest of them stayed quiet. Sarah cut her food into pieces and moved it on her plate without eating.<p>

Charley studied her from across the table. The anger was back, but it wasn't overwhelming. It should've been worse, since part of him was still in a cemetery with his wife. He couldn't afford to pick apart his feelings this morning, the energy just wasn't there.

Unable to take the silence anymore, Sarah locked eyes with Ellison, keeping her tone light. "How do you feel about a pink comforter set?"

"Wouldn't be my first decorating choice," he replied sardonically. "But since I don't have a bed, it seems like a moot point."

Savannah broke out into giggles, unknowingly providing the reaction Sarah had aimed for. "Not for you, Uncle James."

"Of course not," said Charley, the picture of seriousness. "It's for me, pink's my favorite color."

Savannah, finding this utterly hilarious, nearly choked on her orange juice. "You're funny, Uncle Charley."

"Don't encourage him," Sarah ordered, reaching for Savannah's napkin. Kid was damn close to having juice flow from her nose. "Thank you for that, by the way," she added, addressing Charley as she wiped Savannah's face.

Charley shrugged, enjoying Sarah's attempts not to smile. "You started it."

"Children," Ellison warned.

"You think pink is only for girls? Kind of a sexist remark, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Savannah agreed. She had no idea what she was saying, but it was fun teasing Aunt Sarah. Especially when Uncle Charley was there to keep her from getting too mad. "It's a sexist remark."

Sarah made a face. "See what you've done?" she asked, directing the question at Charley. "To Savannah, "Don't use that word."

"What word?"

"Sexist."

"Why?"

"Because it has another word in it that won't be leaving your mouth for the next thirty years."

"Thirty years?" Charley asked. "Isn't that number a little conservative?"

"Uncle Charley said it, why can't I say it?"

"Why do I feel like we've had this conversation already?" Sarah asked.

"Now you know how I feel whenever she copies something from you," Charley stated.

"This conversation too," Sarah replied, remembering their discussion of Savannah taking after her. "Propaganda," the brunette accused. "You exaggerate."

"I want a leather jacket," Savannah announced. "A brown one, like Aunt Sarah's."

This time it was Ellison who choked on his beverage.

"Can I have one?" the redhead persisted.

"No," Sarah replied, ignoring Charley's unrestrained smirk.

"Can I have a black one instead? You have a black one too."

"No."

"Can I have a blue jacket that's not leather?"

"Yes." To Ellison, "Blue jacket, pink comforter set-"

"Toys," Savannah added.

"Toys," Sarah confirmed.

"I thought you wanted to lay low, stick to essentials until the ID's came through?"

Sarah looked at Charley with feigned disbelief. "Toys _are _essential."

"Yeah," Savannah agreed, voice eager.

"Traitor," Charley teased, playfully cuffing the back of Savannah's head. "I thought you were on my side."

"She was," said Sarah. "And then she remembered which one of us promised her toys."

"Bribing a child," said Charley, shaking his head. "Isn't that a little beneath you?"

"As a matter of fact, no," she replied. Sarah smiled for a moment longer before turning serious again. "How much do you really know about computers?" she asked, aiming the query at Ellison.

The bald man made a so-so hand gesture. "Enough to get by, not enough to wind up on one of your lists."

Ignoring that, Sarah took a slip of paper from her pocket, passing it to him across the table. "There's a guy John used to buy from, takes cash without asking questions. The ID's are becoming a problem, and I want this tech stuff over and done with. We need to get this place set up."

"So you're sending me for bedding, toys, and computer equipment. Good to know I'm helping out."

"Thank you for your contribution. Make sure the bedding's a decent thread count, make sure the laptop has at least three gigabytes of memory. And make sure the motherboard and graphics card are decent."

Charley's mouth opened and closed several times. Ellison let his fork hover halfway between plate and mouth. Savannah looked at her as if she'd been replaced by a pod person.

"I heard John and the metal talking, last time they upgraded the computers."

The expressions of stunned disbelief cleared.

"What did you mean?" asked Charley, "about the ID's being a problem?"

Sarah shook her head in irritation. "Derek and Cameron, they had contacts I didn't, people I didn't know."

"And?" Ellison prodded.

"And, I no longer have access to those people. The ones I used to go to, most of them are." Sarah glanced in Savannah's direction, "gone."

"Most?" asked Ellison.

"Most," Sarah confirmed, an odd look coming over her face. "There's a man two hours away from here who was still in business, last I heard."

"This man deals in fake paper?"

"He deals in whatever makes money, jack of all trades. It's the guns and ID papers that I'm interested in."

"You're seeing him today?"

"That's the plan."

"Alone?"

"Also the plan."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Charley commented.

"Objection noted."

"I agree with Charley."

"Of course you do. It's a shopping trip, nothing risky, nothing complicated."

"Don't you always say that everything has risks?"

Sarah tried not to snap. She hated having her words thrown back at her, especially by Charley. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what, overprotective?"

"Yeah, that."

"Because it irritates you. Because I remember what happened the last time you worked a mission by yourself."

"That was different," Sarah argued, losing the battle with her temper. "I told you, this is a shopping trip, not a mission."

"Okay, it's a shopping trip, no risk. Why don't you let me tag along then?"

"There's no _point _in you tagging along, you don't know what you're doing."

"So I'll learn, like you did." Charley wasn't entirely sure why he was pushing this, except for that look on Sarah's face that he couldn't quite get past.

"Maybe I'm not in the mood to teach today."

There was a moment of tense silence. Then, "I could go with her."

"You look like a cop," Sarah retorted, dismissing Ellison's suggestion.

"Is it necessary for you to say that like an insult?"

"Sorry," Sarah replied in a voice that suggested she wasn't.

"I'm going with you," Charley declared.

"Why?"

"Because you don't want me to, and that makes me curious."

"I hate curious people. You're not going."

Charley leaned back in his chair.

"You're not going."

"Really? So what am I doing then?"

"Help Savannah pick out Barbies, I don't care."

"I don't need help," Savannah stated.

"She doesn't need help. I'm going with you."

"You're not."

"Uh-huh."

"If I tell you you're not going, you're not going."

* * *

><p>Two hours later, they were in the truck together, Sarah navigating over a rough dirt road. Her hands were white on the steering wheel.<p>

"Are you going to be like this the whole drive?" Charley asked, more than sick of the silent treatment.

"What do you think?"

"And now I understand why John talked me out of that family road trip idea." A moment later, "You were supposed to laugh."

"I didn't."

"I noticed. So this guy we're going to see…?"

"Yeah?"

"What's his story?"

"What makes you think he has one?" Gritting her teeth, Sarah forced herself to calm down. "Ex-military, Green Beret. Went a little crazy after his last tour."

"A little?"

"A lot, a little. And if you make a mental hospital joke, I swear-"

"Sarah. I didn't say anything."

"Good," she said, pulling up in front of a large metal gate that blocked the road. It was being guarded by two burly men with rifles in their hands and pistols on their hips. Stopping the car some distance from the gate, Sarah looked at Charley for the first time in an hour. "Don't say anything. Don't do anything. Don't think about saying or doing anything, unless I tell you otherwise."

Charley held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, fighting his nerves as the gunmen approached the truck on either side.

"I mean it, Charley. No matter what anyone says or does-"

"You said this was low-risk."

Before Sarah could bite out a response, the guards were on them. Their weapons pointed at the ground, but they peered intently into the truck. The man on Sarah's side gestured for her to roll down the window. She did, indicating that Charley should do the same.

"This is private property," said the guy on the driver's side.

As if anyone could miss the last four no trespassing signs. "Tell your boss that Sarah is here."

"My boss?" the thug asked, playing dumb.

"Gant. Tell Gant that Sarah is here."

"Sarah. You got an appointment, _Sarah_? Because the boss knows a lot of people, a lot of women, and I'm pretty sure he don't know any Sarah."

"And I'm pretty sure you're wrong."

"You got a last name?"

"No. Tell him it's Sarah, give him a physical description."

After a moment's indecision, the man pulled out a cell phone, hitting a speed dial number. He walked a short distance away, muttering quietly into the phone. A few moments later, he returned to Sarah's window. With the press of another button, he put the phone on speaker, holding it up slightly. "Boss wants to speak with you."

"Great. Can we get a little privacy?"

"No."

Stifling a curse, Sarah leaned out to speak into the phone. "Hi Travis."

Charley had half a second to wonder why Sarah was referring to this man by his first name. Half a second, and then the yelling started.

"You fucking crazy lunatic _bitch_! What in fuck's name do you want?"

"Nice to hear your voice. You want to call off your men out here, maybe open the gate so we can do this in person?"

"Why the fuck would I want to see you in person? Crazy fucking-"

"I've got John with me."

There was a pause in the yelling. "You're lying."

"I'm not. I've got John, and I've got business for you."

"I don't need your business."

"Fine, we'll leave then."

Another pause. "Leave your truck, I'll have a vehicle sent down."

"No. We stay in our own car, I let your guys search us."

"Goddamn right you will. Fucking lunatic bitch."

"See you soon, Travis."

"Fuck off."

Ignoring the look on Charley's face, Sarah gestured for him to leave the car. They wound up standing next to each other while Travis's men patted them down.

"I think I might have to do a more thorough job," said the man who'd called Travis. He already had Sarah's Glock in his possession. "Don't want to miss anything."

"Hey," Charley began. The guy had already taken too long in patting Sarah down, and Charley was fuming in spite of the gunmen at his back.

"Charley," Sarah warned. Then, addressing the sleaze ball behind her, "You don't need to frisk me again."

"Oh yeah? What if I want to?"

"Your choice. Enjoy yourself, because you won't be using your hands again, not for a long time."

A cell phone rang. The man guarding Charley answered. Gant's voice was audible, even without the speaker phone engaged.

"Bring her the fuck in here so I can shoot her in the head!"

Gant's men backed off. Sarah and Charley got back in the truck. She refused to look at him as the gate started to open.

"I guess he remembers you." Charley sounded very much like he had after she first explained about the robots and the killer computer.

"He's not actually going to shoot me. It's part of a routine he does."

"A routine. I'm going to ask a question, and I'm going to hate myself for asking-"

"We have history."

"I guessed. I'm also guessing it wasn't the good kind."

"We didn't part on good terms."

"Again, I'm going to ask, and I'm going to wish that I hadn't-"

"Considering the way we left things, he's being more cordial than I expected."

"Sarah."

"There was a knife involved."

"Uh-huh. Who was holding it?"

"Travis. He was drunk."

"So he came at you with a knife?"

"He was upset. We were breaking up at the time."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Hey all. Once again, Gant isn't mine. He was created by James Cameron, but he was a casualty of script rewrites. His physical description, the description of his house, and his general attitude can be attributed to Mr. Cameron. The rest is pretty much me, taking liberties with Mr. Cameron's leftovers. As always, I hope you enjoy, and I shamelessly beg you to drop some feedback on your way out.

* * *

><p>Travis Gant owned a sprawling ranch surrounded by razor-wire fencing. There were vehicles parked in front of the main house, a collection of gutted trucks that looked like they belonged in a junkyard. There were more guards roaming the property, but they paid little attention as Sarah parked the truck and got out.<p>

"Stay back," she told Charley, holding up a hand.

The house in front of them was a large hacienda that had seen better days. Charley was more focused on the man striding out from the front door. "Sarah."

"I said back off," Sarah snapped, moving forward to meet Gant.

Charley ignored her, matching her steps. "He said he was going to shoot you in the head."

"He said that every day for a year," Sarah retorted. "It's a thing he does to show affection."

"Affection."

Halting, Sarah put a hand to Charley's chest and shoved, forcing him to stop. "I've got it, Charley. I told you before that I don't need another hero, so back off." Sarah walked again and Charley stopped following. She could feel the hurt rolling off him, but had no time for it. Their host was nearly upon her.

Charley stood back, clenching his fist as Sarah approached her ex. Gant was every inch the unstable Green Beret Sarah had described. He wore combat boots and cammo pants, and there was a .45 holstered at his waist. He was lean, but muscular, bear-chested except for a denim vest. His hair was long and somewhat unkempt, but he had the bearing of a military man, ramrod posture, alert gaze, no wasted steps. In fact, his no-nonsense gait looked remarkably similar to the way Sarah was walking now. Still a fair distance away, Charley stepped forward a bit as Gant and Sarah met in front of the house.

Sarah heard Charley move closer. She vowed to yell at him later about the importance of listening. Now, she focused on Travis. He was scowling at her, arms crossed over his chest.

"That's not John."

"You don't seem surprised."

"That you lied? No, I'm not surprised. So where is he?"

"Somewhere other than here."

"Lucky him. He grow up enough to realize what a psychotic fucking whack job you are? He finally learn enough to ditch your ass and never looked back?"

Sarah winced inwardly. Outwardly, she showed no reaction. "I'll tell him you say hi."

"Do that."

Charley frowned. Voices carried in the otherwise-silent yard, and he could hear every word of the exchange. He could also hear that Gant's voice had softened on that last reply.

Gant himself was looking Sarah up and down. "You're gorgeous, by the way. You cut your hair."

"You grew yours."

"You haven't changed much. Plastic surgery, or does crazy just look good on you?"

"House hasn't changed much either," Sarah observed, looking off to the side. "I think that truck on the end was in that exact same spot when I left. You fix the transmission yet?"

Gant threw his hands in the air. "I'll get to it. Christ! It's just like you to show up after more than a decade so you can continue your quest of nagging me to death." As he said it, Gant's eyes dropped lower.

Because she needed him, Sarah gave Gant half a second to stare at her chest before putting an end to the ogling session. "Travis, my face is up here. Look at it."

"Don't flatter yourself," Gant responded, eyes moving upward. "I have a lazy eye, you fucking know that."

"Lazy, wandering, same difference."

"My eye got fucked up in Kuwait, while I was rescuing the guys in my squad from-"

"I know. I've heard the story. More times than anyone should have to."

"Bitch. You still ranting about the end of the world?"

"Yes."

"Of course you are. And John's still the savior of mankind?"

"Yes."

"And he's where now, off fighting terminators?"

"I need guns, ID's."

"And you came to me."

"Not my first choice."

"No, I guess not. That would've been Enrique, right? You hear what happened to him? My guys in L.A. tell me he died last year."

"Happens to everyone eventually."

"True enough. You know how it happened to him? Metal. Like the metal you were always blabbing about. I hear he got shot, right after he met with you."

"And?"

"And he met with you eight years after you supposedly blew yourself up. You know what I did when I heard about you blowing yourself up?"

"Would you like me to pretend that I care?"

"I celebrated. Polished off a bottle of gin and a twelve pack."

"How is that different from every other day of your life?"

"And then I heard that you hadn't in fact blown yourself up. You know what I did when I heard that?"

"You polished off two bottles of gin and a twelve pack."

"No, that time it was scotch. And then I heard you landed yourself in jail. But you got out. Some jailbait little girl sprung you. Incidentally, this girl was supposedly the same piece of jailbait who was with you when you blew the bank."

One thing about Travis, he always stayed in the loop. "What do you want me to say, Travis?"

"I want you to say a lot of things, but I'm not stupid enough to think that you will. So the jailbait, I heard she got roughed up pretty bad busting you out. She got pretty roughed up, yet somehow you two made it out. Was she a terminator too?"

"Yes."

"A good one?"

"Sure."

"Let me guess. You got tired of ripping men's balls off and keeping them in jars, so you switched to the other team. That about right?"

"If I say yes, can we start dealing?"

"Sure."

"Then yes."

"Terrific. So where is she now, your good terminator girlfriend?"

"We decided to see other people."

"Other people," Gant repeated. "People like him?" he asked, nodding over Sarah's shoulder.

"He's not your concern."

"Does he have a name?"

"He will, once you get us our ID's."

Ignoring that, Gant raised his voice, looking in Charley's direction. "Excuse me," he said, voice suddenly pleasant. "Friend of Sarah the Crazy, do you have a name?"

"Travis," Sarah warned, voice low.

"You are the most impolite whack job I have ever known. And you don't scare me anymore." To Charley, in a conversational tone. "Would you come over here please? I'd like to meet her latest victim."

"Stay there," Sarah snapped.

"Stay there? He's not a fucking dog, Sarah. Though if he was, I'm sure you would've taken him in for a nut-chopping by now. Seems like he's not afraid of you either."

Sarah glared. Charley had come to stand next to her. He looked surprisingly calm and confident, and it made Sarah want to strangle him. "I told you not to move."

"I ignored you."

"Good man," said Travis, extending his hand to Charley. "I like him. Even though he's not your type."

"Really," Charley said mildly, shaking the other man's hand. "So what is her type?"

Gant's eyes quickly swept over Charley, though his tone and expression remained friendly. "Not you. Be thankful."

"Travis."

"He's not your type."

"No, he's not."

"You feeding him the usual bullshit?" Without waiting for an answer, Gant looked at Charley. "Leave. Leave while you still can. Woman's a fucking plague."

Sarah glanced at Charley without wanting to. His expression had gone studiously blank. "The guns, Travis. The papers."

"She will suck away everything good in your life," Gant continued pleasantly. "And then she'll leave." To Sarah, "I didn't find out until later that you fucked a trail of gunrunners and paramilitary men from here to Mexico."

"Gant," Sarah hissed, taking a step forward.

This time it was Charley who put up a restraining hand, showing no reaction to Gant's comments. "You seem a little bitter."

"Admittedly. You'll get acquainted with the feeling, you stick around this one long enough." To Sarah, "You get that I sort of loved you, right?"

Sarah swore quietly to herself. "You need to quit drinking."

"Not going to happen."

"Then you need to shut up."

"We had some good times, in between your bouts of delusion. I did sort of love you."

"That's your problem."

"Interesting way of showing love, pulling a knife on her."

Gant returned his attention to Charley. "She told you about that. She tell you about this?" Half-turning, Gant pulled off his vest, exposing a large and ugly scar on his left shoulder-blade. "She didn't tell you about that, did she?" Gant pressed, pulling the vest back on and facing them again.

"She didn't. Why don't you tell me?"

"Consider this a cautionary tale. That knife, the vision of psychosis standing next to you used it in an attempt to carve off my tattoo. My symbol of our devotion to each other."

"I told you not to get the tattoo," Sarah snapped.

"It was a Christmas present for Christ's sake!"

"I remember. _My_ present consisted of you branding my name into your shoulder. You should've just got what I asked for."

"I bought you the goddamn AK-47 for your birthday; sue me for trying to be romantic."

"Speaking of guns…"

"Fine, fine. Don't say I didn't warn you." With that last remark to Charley, Gant turned away and strode towards his house, gesturing for them to follow.

"You forgot to mention that little detail in the truck." Charley kept his voice low as they trailed behind Gant.

Sarah shrugged without looking at him. "He was upset. He was making me upset."

"You were breaking up at the time," Charley finished, parroting her explanation from earlier.

"That about covers it."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, the three of them were in Travis's sitting room. He and Sarah were engaging in a heated debate over prices.<p>

"You trying to fucking rob me? You want my kids to fucking starve?"

Sarah frowned. "You have children now?"

"Boy and a girl. Speaking of…" A boy of about three had just walked into the room. "What's up, TJ?"

The kid pulled at his father's arm, ignoring the strangers. "I can't find my Transformers."

Gant rolled his eyes in Sarah's direction. "Goddamn robot toys. Like I didn't get enough of that shit from you." To his son, in a very different tone. "Ask your mother to find them."

TJ stuck out his lower lip and looked over his shoulder. An attractive blonde woman who could just barely pass for legal stepped into the room, joining father and son.

"Honey, have you seen TJ's action figures?"

The woman looked at him blankly.

"Hell," Gant muttered under his breath. "TJ, go look in your room, daddy's busy right now."

TJ left without looking happy about it. His mother remained next to her husband's chair, silently observing Charley and Sarah..

"Honey, this guy doesn't have a name yet," he said, indicating Charley. "And this is Sarah."

The blonde stared at Sarah, eyes narrowed. When she spoke, it was with a heavy Russian accent. "Who..is.. she?" the woman asked, seeming to struggle with the words.

"Sarah," Gant repeated, enunciating the name. "Sarah, meet Olga. _Mrs_. Gant. "

"Charmed," Sarah replied.

Olga still looked confused. Gant rubbed his temples, gesturing back and forth between the women. "Sarah. Sarah was the old Mrs. Gant."

"Excuse me?"

Gant shot Sarah an annoyed look, ignoring her tone. "Give me a break. Olga's from Moscow, there's a language barrier."

"Moscow. Did you order her from a catalogue?"

"It was a website, you self-righteous bit-"

Clearing his throat loudly, Charley locked eyes with Gant for half a second before focusing on Olga. "Nice to meet you," he said, offering a smile.

Olga's face spit into a wide grin. The words didn't seem to register, but Charley's smile seemed to be communication enough. "You like tea? I make tea."

Gant's eyes flew between Charley and his wife. "Olga, why don't you go help Travis Jr. find his toys?"

Olga kept looking at Charley, pointing from herself to him. "I make you tea," she repeated.

"He doesn't drink tea," Sarah stated, clenching her hand on the arm of Travis's couch.

"See, there you go." Vacating his chair, Gant took hold of his wife's elbow, addressing Sarah. "Fuck this. A thousand added to your offer and we've got a deal."

"Are you forgetting about that gun run in Nicaragua?"

Gant closed his eyes. "Five hundred added to your offer."

"Done."

"Thank the fuck Christ," Travis mumbled, leading his wife out of the room. "Back in a minute."

"I can hardly wait."

"Fucking bitch," Travis grumbled, glancing at Charley before he left. "She's going to leech all the life out of you, I hope you know that."

A minute passed in complete silence. Sarah and Charley were sharing a loveseat, avoiding each other's gazes. It was Charley who spoke first, looking at Sarah from the corner of his eye.

"That guy he mentioned, Enrique…" Asking her if she'd killed a man was somehow easier than asking about the rest.

"He was betraying us, he contacted Ellison."

"So you killed him."

Sarah gave Charley a dangerous look. "I didn't. I wasn't even sure he'd ratted us out until Ellison told me. Cameron killed him, before I could stop her."

Charley looked at her with shame in his eyes. "Sorry. I should've known."

He should have, even though there was so much he hadn't known. Sarah didn't press the issue.

Desperate to lighten the mood, to think of something besides Gant's comments, Charley said "Quite a switch, you to Olga."

Sarah made a derisive noise. "I'm thinking there were some women in between. But yeah, quite a switch."

Charley smirked a little. "I'm thinking he needed someone a little tamer, after you."

Sarah made the noise again, but her mouth twitched upwards.

"Old Mrs. Gant?" he teased, pressing his advantage.

"Don't."

"Didn't seem like you liked her."

"I don't. I don't dislike her either," Sarah lied, thinking of how Gant's wife looked at Charley.

Charley knew he should stop, but this was far too amusing. "Remember that girl Vicky, from the diner?"

Sarah remembered Vicky. She'd been assigned to train the overly-perky teenager after Vicky got hired part-time. Sarah remembered her, and tried not to care that Charley did too. "Disgustingly cheerful, incapable of getting from kitchen to customer without dropping something. What about her?"

Charley grinned, recalling the girl's attempts to flirt with him. "Is that why you didn't like her, because she was cheerful and clumsy?"

"I got sick of sweeping up the broken plates."

"I'm sure you did."

Several of Gant's men began to enter and leave the room, setting a large selection of guns and ammo on the table. Sarah waited in silence a few seconds, and then her cell phone started to vibrate.

Charley listened as she exchanged codes and quick words with Ellison. Gant's men continued to bring in firearms.

"No. No, she can't have ice cream. It'll spoil her dinner." Rolling her eyes, Sarah put her hand over the mouthpiece and addressed Charley. "He wants to know about supper."

"Tell him it's his turn, I cooked yesterday."

Sarah relayed the message and listened a few more seconds. "Put her on." Covering the mouthpiece again, Sarah addressed one of Gant's men, who held a case of small pistols. "Put those away," she snapped.

"Huh?"

"The cheap stuff, put it away. The stash in his office, bring me something from there."

"You know about that?"

"I know about that." Travis's guy slinked away, taking the unwanted guns with him. Noting Charley's bemused expression, Sarah offered a quick explanation. "Travis never liked change. I took a few weapons from the office before I left."

It couldn't be healthy that this situation was starting to feel normal, but Charley grinned anyway. "Parting gift?"

Shrugging, Sarah moved her hand from the mouthpiece, tone softening as she spoke to Savannah. "Hey. No. I said…you can bring the ice cream home, you're not getting it now." To Charley, "You still like cookie dough?"

"Is that a serious question?"

Shaking her head, Sarah resumed her other conversation. "Tell Uncle James to get a quart of chocolate. And cookie dough." Another pause. Sarah frowned into the phone. "What? We're working on that now. What?"

"What's the matter?"

Sarah covered the mouthpiece again. "Who's Thomas?"

"The turtle." Off Sarah's blank look, "The stuffed animal I bought the other night."

Sarah spoke into the phone again. "No. Thomas doesn't need a new name. No. No. I said…all right. Good, I'll see you later." Sarah hung up as the last of Travis's men were leaving. "Who's Ariel?"

Charley raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Why does Savannah want to change her name to Ariel?"

Charley bit his lip to stifle a chuckle. "I'm guessing because they both have red hair, and because she made me watch the movie every day for two weeks."

"What movie?"

It was Travis who answered as he rejoined them and sat down again. "_The Little Mermaid_."

Sarah stared at him. "You know about this?"

"My daughter's obsessed with the fucking thing," Gant replied, shooting Charley a sympathetic glance.

Sarah blinked repeatedly. It irritated her, the men knowing something she didn't. "What's it about?"

Travis threw up his hands and rubbed his temple. "What the fuck do you think it's about, it's about a fucking mermaid. God! Your ability to _not_ listen is fucking astounding! Olga and I have better conversations, and half the time she can't even pronounce my name!"

Sarah couldn't legitimately defend herself, so she picked up a shotgun instead. "How soon can you get the ID'S?"

"What's the point of answering? Whatever I say, it won't be quick enough for you." Shaking his head, Gant pulled out the photos she'd given him, scrutinizing Ellison's picture. "This guy looks like a cop."

"He's not," Sarah replied, still busy with the weapon.

"Looks like he is."

Charley did an admirable job of holding his composure. Inwardly, he was thinking about Sarah making the same remark on Ellison's appearance earlier that day. "Do you really think she'd associate with a cop?"

Travis considered that. "Good point," he said, moving on to Savannah's picture. 'So what's the story? Kid supposed to be yours, are you married? What kind of bullshit am I slinging here?"

Sarah stopped examining the gun. "We're not married."

"Oh?" Gant pressed. His eyes had suddenly locked on to Charley's wedding band.

Charley stuffed his left hand into his pocket and picked up a pistol. "We're not married," he repeated, mouth suddenly dry. "I'm not her type."

Charley barely spoke for the rest of the meeting, allowing Sarah to feed Gant whatever lies she'd thought up to represent their lives.

* * *

><p>Gant bitingly suggested that Sarah look up her terminator girlfriend, bring her along next time. Sarah told him that they'd have to do lunch sometime. Olga attempted to give Charley a bag of homemade cookies for the road. Sarah said he was diabetic and Charley didn't argue. That had been an hour and a half ago, and the silence in the truck was driving Sarah insane.<p>

"Are you going to talk to me?"

Charley looked out the window. "I tried that on the drive over. Didn't work out."

Sarah's eyes flicked sideways. Charley's hand was clenched tight against the center console. "So what, you're angry with me now?"

"I'm not angry."

"I told you not to pretend," Sarah snapped.

Charley turned his head to meet her gaze. "You need to give me some time," he ordered tightly.

Sarah could only take another thirty seconds, then she was speaking again. "I told you not to come."

"I know."

"I _told _you-"

"I _know _Sarah. You've told me not to do a lot of things; I ignored you, my problem."

"That's not what I meant."

"You sure about that?" Charley took a breath and leaned his head back, trying to regain control. "What Gant said about you…?"

When she'd explained things to him last year, she'd managed to gloss over the part about men as part of the mission. "He was right. He had skills and resources that I needed, that John needed. So did the rest of them."

Charley didn't want to ask how many skilled men with resources had come before him.

"You're angry."

"No."

"Charley."

"I'm _human, _Sarah! Just…what do you want me to say?"

She shouldn't care. He shouldn't have to say anything. "I want you to say that you get it."

"I do." And he did. That didn't make it easy, picturing what she'd had to do to learn what she'd learned. "I do, Sarah."

Sarah looked at him, looked at the road. He sounded the same now as he had this morning, when she apologized about Michelle. He looked the same too. He understood, but he was human, so he struggled with that understanding. But somehow Sarah felt better, just knowing that he was trying. "They didn't mean anything. Travis didn't mean anything."

Charley knew that, but it didn't stop him from struggling. "You were with him a long time," he said, trying not to care that she'd spent longer with Gant than she had with him.

"I was with him until he stopped being useful."

A moment of silence. Then, "He liked John." It wasn't a question.

The usual mask fell away, just for a second. "He did. John was always more likeable then me."

Charley chuckled a bit, appreciating her try at humor. "He's an easy kid to like."

Sarah blinked hard. Charley was no longer clenching the center console. Sarah blinked again and tried not to grip the wheel too hard.

"Did…did John like him?"

Sarah released a sigh. "John was desperate for someone other than me, and Travis…Travis was good to him, better than some of the others. He taught him how to fix engines."

Charley looked out the window again. The boy had never been clear on where he'd acquired his mechanical skills. "So John liked him."

Sarah fought a silent war in her head. Then she reached down to the console, covering Charley's hand with hers. "He liked you more. He was upset when we left Travis's place. When we left Nebraska, he barely spoke to me for a week."

"And you?" he asked tentatively.

Sarah put her hand back on the wheel. "Don't ask me that, not when you already know."

They were silent for another few minutes, then it was Charley who couldn't stand the quiet. Offering her a crooked smile, he said, "I think I finally get it."

"What's that?"

"What you saw in me. After I found out…everything, I couldn't figure it out. I'm not your type."

He wasn't. Her type would logically be men with guns and explosives and a healthy dose of paranoia mixed with PTSD. "You're not. That was a point in your favor."

She said it jokingly, but she also meant it, and Charley smiled. "See, that's what I mean. You and Gant, you got used to a certain type, then you needed a break."

"Are you comparing me to Travis?"

"What if I was?"

Sarah took her foot off the gas. The road was empty save for them, so there were no worries about accidents. "Then I'd tell you to get the hell out of this truck."

Charley laughed. "All right, I'm not comparing you with Gant. Can I compare myself to Olga?"

"Go ahead."

They laughed, and Sarah pressed down on the gas pedal. Soon enough, the atmosphere became serious again. "I think Travis honestly does miss John."

"I think he does," Charley said quietly. "But not like you do."

Sarah tightened both hands on the steering wheel. "No one misses him like I do."

"I know," said Charley, covering one of her hands on the wheel. "Just like you know that I miss him too."

"Yeah. I know that."

For a moment, they were still. Then Charley moved to take his hand away. Cursing her own weakness, Sarah laced their fingers together, guiding them until they rested back on the center console. "I miss him, Charley. I thought…I tried tricking myself into thinking it would get better, but it hasn't."

With nothing to say that would make a difference, all Charley could do was squeeze her hand. She squeezed back, and he expected her to let go afterwards, but she didn't.

* * *

><p>Sarah took a detour without warning him, to that storage locker she'd mentioned. They were still holding hands when she parked. Charley asked if he should go with her. She declined, but she also ran her palm over his cheek before leaving the truck. She returned with a small cardboard box and placed it in the backseat. Charley couldn't see what the box contained, and Sarah didn't offer the information. Charley didn't ask. She made another stop, this time to Walmart. Again, he stayed in the truck, because she said it would only take a minute. She returned quickly with a small plastic bag that also went in the backseat without Charley seeing its contents.<p>

Ellison and Savannah were there when Sarah and Charley returned to the house. Sarah pulled a copy of _The Little Mermaid _from the store bag and declared that they were having movies and ice cream later that night. There was something else in the Walmart bag, and Sarah took that to her room, along with the box from the locker.

Closing the door behind her, Sarah set both items down, tipping the bag until the tape recorder fell out onto the bed. Digging through the box, she checked to see what number she'd left off on, how many tapes there were. Then she put the box in her closet, next to her shotgun.

Recorder in hand, Sarah sat down at the head of the bed, knees drawn up in front of her. Then she pressed record and gave the date, along with the tape number.

"John. It's been awhile since I've done this. I wish I could tell you there was a reason for starting again. I wish I could tell you that we'd won, or we're winning, or that we're even close. I don't even…these tapes are more for me than you, like before." Pausing, Sarah took a breath and closed her eyes. "I love you, John. I miss you. Charley's here, and he misses you too."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **So this chapter ended up differently than it was supposed to Some of that can be attributed to a certain part of a certain calorie-laden treat. I blame you, you know who you are. I'm also going to accuse another part of that same calorie-laden treat of trying to sabotage me. First, she sucked me into some kind of battle over update speeds, Which is unfair, because my updates are longer, so they take longer. And then said update opponent posted two chapters in one night, which is cheating. It's awesome, but it's cheating. Additionally, I think she added a certain phrase to her story just so she could derail mine. Charley's trolley. How am I supposed to pen great drama with that in my head? If you haven't read Wheresmyluce's Camerah story, go do it, and tell her not to sue me. It's her own fault for making suggestions in a friendly, joking manner. If you haven't read CheekeyMonkey's Camerah story, go do that, too. And tell her to knock it off with the double updates and Charley's trolley absurdity. It's dirty tactics, and it won't help you in the end :)

* * *

><p>The days following their meeting with Gant were busy, filled with small hassles Ellison had purchased the computer equipment Sarah requested, but actually hooking it up made her yearn for John more than ever. There was lots of cleaning and loading of the weapons bought from Gant. Sarah reached new levels of irritability during this time, as they worked on strategically placing the guns. Ellison and Charley were smart enough not to mention that not everyone knew the finer points regarding which firearm belonged under the floorboards versus behind the towels versus under the sink. She taught them these things grudgingly, with frustration. As if she was being forced to explain that whites should be separate from lights, which should be separate from darks. She also declared that they would switch off on laundry duty, but that she wasn't going anywhere near Ellison's boxers. Ellison thanked her for that, noting that Sarah was, sporadically, referring to him by his first name, even when Savannah wasn't around.<p>

They set up Savannah's room, and Charley used their newfound Internet access to get her back on some kind of homeschooling schedule. Also, Sarah resumed her own form of schooling, which she'd neglected during those first few days of limbo. Charley, who'd been known to question her methods back at the lighthouse, stopped doing so. He let Sarah do whatever she thought necessary, tamping down on any worries about what was happening to Savannah's childhood. Kaliba's assault on his old home had thrown into sharp relief things that Charley had wanted to forget. He'd been safe on that beach for the better part of a year, and despite everything, the last bit of that time had been relatively good. It was too easy to forget, with a little girl who made him smile, made his house into a home, a place where loneliness didn't pervade every room. He'd almost forgotten, until the siren went off and they ran for the boat, and Savannah fell getting on to it. He'd thought she was dead, and thinking of it again made his stomach knot. Charley wouldn't forget anymore.

When she wasn't otherwise occupied, Sarah extended her knowledge to Charley and Ellison. She taught James self-defense, even though he'd gone through training at Quantico. Sarah put him through the paces, freely criticizing the low standards of the FBI regarding the physical prowess of their agents.

If she wasn't putting James through hell, she was doing the same to Charley. They'd gotten lax with his training, even before Kaliba showed up. Sarah had been uncharacteristically weak then, letting their issues and their fear of touching each other get in the way. She made up for that now by doubling her efforts. He learned new, more complicated moves. And he got banged up. Repeatedly. But he also got _back_ up, and he never complained, even when Savannah turned up to watch, finding amusement in his suffering.

They had to wait for the ID's to come through, and Sarah was restless during this period. She accused Charley of hovering, and she glared every time she saw Ellison's bag full of clothes. Charley knew he'd done so on occasion, but he honestly didn't believe he was hovering this time. It was just a case of a small house with too many people. Charley had enough sense not to tell her this, but to retreat instead. Ellison also had sense. Unlike Derek, he didn't complain about his sleeping arrangements. He'd seen the one bed in disarray back at the motel, he saw the way Sarah smiled just a little when Charley came back for more after she knocked him flat during training, and he saw the banter they sometimes fell into, especially around Savannah. So James didn't complain about the uncomfortable couch that didn't even fold out. He just did his best to stay out of Sarah's way, and bided his time.

* * *

><p>"I hate doctors," Sarah proclaimed, slipping into her jacket. She glanced distastefully around the examination room, eyes stopping on Charley. He was standing next to the chair he'd sat in during all the tests. She'd asked for a full workup and she'd gotten that, along with everything that came with it. The needles, the scratchy hospital gown, everything. Charley sat with her the whole time, offering a soft smile whenever she met his eyes. He'd looked shocked when the nurse weighed her, but he'd covered that with admirable speed.<p>

"I think you're entitled to that feeling," Charley commented. He tried not to wonder about Pescadero, not to remember the way Sarah's face went dark and tight when they'd talked of that place back in the motel. He wanted to believe that whatever nightmare images he conjured up would be worse than what'd actually happened to her in the institution. Wanting to believe it didn't mean that he actually did.

"Not just doctors," Sarah continued. Charley's presence had helped, but the tests still had her on edge, and it would take too long to get the results back. There was a lot of stress exercising in her future. "The hospitals with their shitty food, the people who work in them, everything doctor related."

Charley leaned against the chair, trying a smile. She'd been damn near impossible in the days leading up to the appointment, not that he blamed her. The only one safe from her nervous anger was Savannah. He and Ellison had adapted a duck and cover strategy, which Charley now decided to change. "That's good to hear."

Sarah paused in the act of checking her gun, the one Charley had stashed under his own coat during the examination. "Why is that good to hear?"

"Because. It means that my high paying and glamorous medic job wasn't the thing that got you interested."

Sarah bit back a laugh and resumed her task, "No, not that. You have any theories?"

Charley walked over to her and shrugged, though his expression was serious. "Movie star good looks?"

Sarah bit her own tongue to keep from chuckling. "Whatever you say?" she replied, purposely framing it as a question.

"I'd tell you that you're being unnecessarily cruel, if I wasn't so excited."

"Excited are you?" Sarah questioned. Satisfied that her weapon was in order, Sarah met Charley's gaze, leaning against the examination table.

"Thrilled. Whatever you say. You've never said that to me before. I'd be surprised if you'd said that to _anyone _before. I think I'm living a historic moment."

"That thing that got me interested? Not your sense of humor."

Charley put on a wounded face. "Savannah thinks I'm funny."

Sarah shook her head at the credential. "Not going to work. Savannah's too young to know about real humor. Sometimes she thinks _I'm _funny."

"Savannah's good at pretending."

"You're not funny."

"I made jokes when we first started talking. You laughed."

"When we first started talking, I was on the clock. You laugh when the customer tries to be funny, Waitressing 101. Pretending to like your jokes was better than having you stare at me from across the diner."

"I didn't stare."

"You did, you just weren't as obvious about it as some of the others."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

Sarah shrugged. "I still knew what you were doing. Had to confirm that you weren't metal. The terrible jokes didn't help with that."

Charley didn't care whether she was joking or not. Her lips were curved, and some of the tension had bled out, and that was good enough for him. "I didn't stare."

"Maybe not," Sarah conceded. "But you looked. A lot."

"Do you remember what that waitress uniform looked like?"

"Unfortunately."

"And you know what _you_ look like?"

"I do."

"Okay then. So what, you want me to apologize for having a pulse?"

"Is this a pickup line?"

"No, my original pickup line was a pickup line."

"You had a pickup line? I don't remember this."

"First thing I said to you, that was the line."

Sarah smirked, arms crossed casually over her chest. "Can I please get some more coffee? That was a line?"

"One of my better ones, yeah."

Charley was grinning at her with twinkling eyes and, for just a second, Sarah forgot where she was. Then it registered again, and she straightened her posture, closing her eyes.

Charley's smile disappeared. They were close already, but he stepped closer. "Hey," he murmured. "Sarah-"

"Don't say it."

"What?"

"Don't tell me that it's going to be okay," she said. Her eyes were open again and they were steady, like her voice. "Don't tell me it'll be okay, it might not be."

Charley gave himself a second to hurt, to feel the impact of her words. "You think I'm that predictable," he said, voice quiet. "I wasn't going to tell you that."

"No?" Sarah asked, ducking her head. Charley's hand was in hers, stroking the back of it.

"No," he repeated, waiting for her to look up before speaking again. "I was going to tell you that I'm here. Whatever happens, I'm here. For whatever that's worth to you."

Sarah blinked hard, swallowing past a lump in her throat. She thought of Reese, her delusion at the hospital. She'd been shot, and she'd been close to dying, and Reese hadn't been there. Yet he'd told her that he was, promised it. She thought of Hal Beasley telling her that she wouldn't need his help anymore.

"Sarah?"

Charley still had her hand. He was squeezing her fingers. Sarah pulled out of his grasp and then she pulled him into a hug, knowing that she shouldn't. Things were already impossibly complicated. She could hear Cameron and Derek in her head, warning her against this. She hugged him anyway. Charley ran gentle fingers through her hair. The headache she'd been fighting all morning started to ease.

"It's worth a lot," she said, kissing his cheek. "I knew it already, but it's worth a lot."

* * *

><p>Several days came and went. Sarah spent much of that time poring over research Ellison had compiled from the Internet. Stuff about Zeira Corp, about tech companies doing interesting work. There was also the list from the old house. Cameron had cleaned the basement wall, but not before Sarah copied down every name. It was almost unnecessary, she'd studied those names so many times. But she wasn't a machine, she lacked Cameron's perfect memory, and she wasn't about to take needless risks.<p>

Her door was half-open when Charley knocked. She was on her bed, surrounded by computer printouts. "What's up?" she asked as he stepped into the room.

"I'm offering advanced warning; you're not skipping dinner tonight."

Sarah sighed. He'd been smart enough not to look at the scale, but then that damn nurse had opened her mouth to read Sarah the riot act,. "I'm not hungry, and it's too early for dinner."

"I don't care, and you're right. Dinner will take awhile."

"I'm going to the kitchen in a few minutes; I told you I needed it tonight."

"The table, you need the _table_. Unless pipe bombs need to simmer on the stove."

Sarah rolled her eyes at his tone. "It's a process demonstration, minus the important stuff. You think I trust Ellison not to cut the wrong wire and blow us all up?"

"See, you don't need the kitchen itself."

"Savannah needs her math checked, I have to-"

"Fine. You'll do your bomb-making tutorial, you'll check Savannah's math homework, and then you'll eat."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Are you giving me orders?"

"I'm making beef stew."

Sarah's tone changed. "Yours?"

"Mine, that's why dinner will take awhile. Plenty of time for you to work up an appetite."

"You still do that thing with the onions?"

"You mean putting them in?""

"If that's what it is."

"Then yes, I still do the thing with the onions."

"I'll take out the good bowls."

"We have good bowls?"

"We have bowls," Sarah shrugged. "They're not broken."

"Got it, we have good bowls."

* * *

><p>"Am I the only one who finds something wrong with this picture?"<p>

Sarah leaned an elbow against the table, now cleared of bomb-making supplies. "I don't see a problem," she replied, sipping from her beer.

"How shocking," Ellison drawled, blinking back tears as he chopped onions. "Savannah?"

Next to Sarah at the table, Savannah grinned and took a drink from her milk, watching Uncle James cry. Uncle Charley was across from him, manning the stove. "It smells good in here."

Charley glanced back as he stirred the contents of a large pot. "No thanks to you. Why don't you make yourself useful and get me the carrots?"

Smile widening, the girl exchanged looks with Sarah. "I'm being useful. I'm supervising."

"Supervising. Do you even know what that means?"

"Yes. It means watching everyone else do the work."

"Gifted child," Ellison said wryly.

Charley made an agreeable kind of noise, looking back at Sarah. "Better watch what you're teaching that kid."

"I always do."

"Right, sorry I doubted you. Thanks for helping out by the way."

"I'm supervising Savannah while she supervises you. It's a chain of command," Sarah retorted, leaving the table to head into the kitchen.

"And you're always at the top," said Ellison, shaking his head.

"You're finally learning," said Sarah, handing Charley the carrots he'd requested.

They continued the dinner preparations, Savannah assisting in small tasks while Sarah did her best to stay out of the way. However, guilt eventually had her asking if there was anything else that needed doing, which led to her testing the stew before Charley served, which led to her licking her lips in a way that made Charley wonder if she was attempting to give him a heart attack.

"I thought you said you were going to get out the good bowls?"

"Are you kicking me out of the kitchen?"

"I'm asking you to set the table."

"So you're kicking me out of the kitchen."

"I'd rather limit your time around the stove. Don't want you turning the wrong dial and blowing us all up."

They ate, and they enjoyed themselves. Charley's beef stew was better than Sarah remembered, and she'd remembered it being pretty damn good. She ate more than one helping. She hadn't done that with any meal since before the attack on Zeira Corp.

Savannah's plea for dessert made Sarah yearn for a child's metabolism. She made the mistake of voicing that thought out loud, and Charley looked at her as though she truly was insane.

"Can we make smores?" Savannah pressed. "I've never had them."

"Where did you hear about smores?" Sarah asked.

"From Uncle James."

"Really. Is this what happens when I leave, you educate her on new ways of getting a sugar high?"

Ellison shrugged. "You're educating her on how to use men as domestic slaves."

" I've told you to watch that smartass streak."

"Hey," Charley chided. "No language at the table." Sarah gave him a dangerous look and he smirked in response. "Your rule, not mine."

Shaking her head, Sarah turned her attention to Savannah. "We can't have smores, there's no chocolate."

"Yes there is," Savannah argued. "In the pantry, behind all the pancake stuff."

"You're still hoarding chocolate?" Charley asked.

If Savannah knew about her stash, either the kid was learning too fast, or Sarah was losing her touch. Saving those worries for later, Sarah focused her confusion on Charley. "What do you mean 'still?'"

"Top shelf, the cupboard on the left. You hid it behind things that were close to expiring."

"You knew about that?"

"Not for the first month."

"You hoard candy bars?" Ellison asked, like he was talking to a stranger.

"I only hoard guns," Sarah replied, an edge to her voice. "You want to pick your jaw up now?"

"That's so…_normal_. It doesn't sound like you."

"Doesn't it," Sarah drawled. "I was going to be normal and ask about doing the dishes. But since normal seems to be a problem for you-"

"Can we make the smores?" Savannah broke in. "Please?"

"Yes," said Charley. As Sarah's eyes bored into him. "Fire pit's outside, it's huge, might as well use it."

She'd had other uses in mind for that fire pit, uses that involved thermite and metal. "She's not going to sleep tonight."

"I'll deal with it," Ellison offered.

Sarah sat back in her chair. She hated being outnumbered. "Who's going to deal when she gets marshmallow in her hair?"

"I will," Charley said with a grin. "Worse comes to worst, we'll cut it off."

"No!" Savannah exclaimed, mortified by the idea."

"No?" Charley teased. "What if we cut it like Aunt Sarah's, would that be okay?"

It was Sarah who answered. "No." To Savannah, "You're going to sleep tonight. You're not going to be tired and grumpy tomorrow, and tell me you don't want to do anything."

"No, I won't."

"I don't think she's the one with the grumpiness issues."

Sarah turned her attention to Ellison. "James. That one drink you had is making you dangerously bold right now."

"No violence at the table," Charley scolded. "Again, your rule."

"I know what my rules are," Sarah snapped.

"I know you do. I'll get the graham crackers."

"I didn't agree to this."

"Did Savannah do her homework?"

"Yes."

"Did she do everything else you asked her to do today?"

"Yes," Savannah replied, practically bouncing in her chair.

"Then I'm getting the graham crackers. Can I do that, Sarah, without getting shot?"

Sarah considered, releasing a silent breath. "You're replenishing my chocolate supply."

"I think that can be handled."

"And if _you're _up all night, you go straight to Uncle James."

Savannah nodded vigorously.

Sarah looked between Charley and James. "That rule about violence at dinner, it doesn't apply during dessert, especially outside. I'm bringing my gun with me. Keep that in mind if either of you decide to break into campfire song."

* * *

><p>"How can you eat that?" Ellison asked, features contorting in the firelight.<p>

Sarah examined her marshmallow on a stick, which also happened to be on fire. "You're starting to irritate me."

"I just…how can that possibly taste good?"

Rather than respond verbally, Sarah snatched the stick from his hand, set the end on fire, and thrust it back at him, turning his marshmallow into a blackened glob. "Find out, if you're really that curious."

They had smores. The adults had beer. Eventually, Sarah sent Savannah to bed, ignoring the girl's protests. Ellison went with her to see about washing all the goop from her face. After half an hour, he still hadn't returned.

There was a picnic table not far from the fire pit. When Savannah left, Sarah had moved to sit on top of it, booted feet resting on the bench. She watched Charley tend to the fire, watched him finish his task and approach her.

"Knew that Boy Scout training would come in handy."

Sarah tried a smile, but it was forced.

Charley frowned. Her good mood of the last few hours had disappeared rapidly, like the sun behind sudden storm clouds. "You mind?" he asked, indicating the space beside her.

Shifting slightly, Sarah picked up the beer that was sitting next to her, assuring herself that it wouldn't spill.

Realizing that this was the best invitation he could hope for, Charley climbed up next to her. "It's nice here at night," he remarked. The temperature was cooler, and the stars were brighter here than in L.A.

"It is," Sarah agreed. "Except for the scorpions. And the coyotes."

Charley sighed. Sometimes he had trouble discerning Sarah's sense of humor from Sarah's desire to instantly kill a mood. "Savannah enjoyed herself."

"She did. Dinner was great."

He knew she meant it, but there was a familiar distance in her tone, one that always set him on edge. "What's going on, Sarah?"

"Nothing. Savannah enjoyed herself. So did I. It was a good night."

"It was. So how do you always manage to make a good night sound like a bad thing?"

Sarah sipped from her drink. "John and I used to go camping. It wasn't like tonight. He wanted it to be, but it wasn't."

Charley didn't know what to say, so he cursed himself and remained silent.

'I'm trying to do better. With her. Give her better memories than John had."

"John loves you. Savannah loves you."

"She say that to you?"

"Sarah." The woman could be extraordinarily obtuse, when the mood struck her.

Sarah closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "John knew there was something wrong."

"What?"

"Cameron told him I'd lost weight. He didn't know why, but he knew something was wrong. He asked me about it before we met with Weaver, he was worried."

Cool night aside, Charley felt his palms starting to sweat. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. There wasn't time; I wouldn't have known what to say if there was. John does love me. And now wherever he is, he's going to worry about me."

"He would've done that no matter what."

"He can't afford to. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, he can't afford distractions. Neither can I."

Charley clenched his fingers against the rough wood of the table. "Is that what tonight was, a distraction?"

Sarah scraped at the label on her beer.. "Tonight was good. Better than a lot of other nights."

"But you can't let yourself feel that."

"I did feel it. I felt it tonight, and it was almost as good as Nebraska. Nebraska was good."

"You were happy." The statement part of that just barely won out over the question part.

"I was. For six months. And look what six months of happiness did to you."

"I don't want to talk about this again. Not now."

"I know you don't, but I do. I need to."

"Why?" Charley asked, the word sounding harsher than he'd wanted.

A beat of silence. "Doctor called."

Charley's stomach twisted in on itself. For a few seconds, he seriously worried about losing his dinner He stared at her, and she stared back, saying nothing. "Sarah." He sounded sharp and desperate, and he couldn't care about either.

Sarah looked off into the distance, looked back at him. "The tests were clear. Fit as a fiddle."

That phrase sounded wrong on her lips, and Charley knew she was repeating the doctor's exact words. Part of him wanted to laugh. Instead, he released a harsh breath and put his head in his hands, just for a second. "Jesus Sarah. Don't…don't do that to me. Ever again."

Sarah handed him her beer, which was over three quarters full. Charley took it from her, brought it to his lips, and kept it there.

"You drank it all," she said, once he'd passed her the empty bottle.

"I'll get you another."

"Don't bother."

Recognizing the request for what it was, Charley stayed. "You're healthy."

"For now."

Charley closed his eyes. "Can't you just…? For one night, can't we just-"

"No, I can't stop worrying. I stopped worrying tonight and it was…I stopped worrying in Nebraska."

"I don't want to do this. I can't-"

"You said you'd be here," Sarah snapped. "You said you'd be here and I need that. Now."

Charley didn't speak right away. "Fine."

He wasn't happy about it, but Sarah couldn't afford to care. "Part of me was happy that John isn't here. If the tests showed something…I didn't want to face telling him. I didn't want to face telling you either. It scared the hell out of me. More than it should have."

"What do you mean?"

She took a long time to answer. "If I'd been sick when we were together…it would've felt the same."

"Sarah…?"

"Telling you I was sick now, it would've felt the same to me as if I'd had to tell you then. When we were together."

It took a moment to sink in, what she was saying. "Sarah-"

"I can't do this again. I don't have it in me. Do you understand that?"

"I'm not asking you for anything."

"You can't lie, you never could. And I still know when you're looking at me, what you're thinking. I can't do it, Charley. There's nothing to offer you."

She was looking away again. Charley took her chin in his hand. "And you think I'm any different? You think there's anything left in me?"

"Maybe there's not, and we both know why."

The old feelings surged again, the bad ones. Charley forced them down. "I could've stayed away," he said, voice tight. "I didn't. And I'm tired of this, Sarah. I'm tired of being angry."

"Doesn't mean you aren't. Doesn't mean that part of you won't _always _be angry."

"Maybe you're right. You told me that part of you would always be angry at Reese."

She'd also told him that she'd love Reese. Always. This was the second time Charley had made that comparison. "That's true. Part of me will always be angry at him for showing up in the first place. Most of me will always be angry at him for leaving. Reese almost killed me you know, when he died. But I had John. I don't anymore. Do you know what's going to happen if you become another Kyle Reese? You're going to break me, Charley. As badly as I broke you, with Michelle."

She sounded a little sad. Mostly, she sounded angry. "You're stronger than that," he said, because he couldn't promise not to leave her like Kyle, the same way she couldn't promise not to come to him one day with lousy tests results. "You're more stubborn than that. You'd go on."

"I would," she acknowledged, sliding off of the table. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't be broken."

Sarah walked away. Charley didn't follow.

* * *

><p>He didn't follow immediately. By the time he reached her room, Sarah was leaning on a dresser in there, clutching a tape recorder under one hand. She'd left the door partially open again, and Charley could see her in that room, breathing hard with one hand on the dresser and the other on the tape player. When she saw him, Sarah left the recorder in its spot on the dresser and stormed across the room. Charley caught the door she attempted to slam in his face.<p>

Sarah glared. He'd pushed hard on the door. It would've banged into the back of her wall if she'd let it. "You'll wake Savannah."

"Let me in and I won't."

"I let you in before. Didn't go well."

"You walked away."

"Should've done it sooner."

"Well you didn't. And I didn't either, when you told me to. And now we're here."

"And now we're here. You have a point?"

She'd let go of the door, but she was leaning against its frame. Charley stepped closer, into her personal space. "My point is that I'm unbelievably sick of you walking away."

Charley kissed her. There was nothing sweet or tender about it, it wasn't like that first kiss at the motel. It was desperate, demanding, like the ones that came later. Charley held her and pressed closer, shoving his tongue into her mouth. Sarah kissed him back. Her teeth were nipping his lower lip and he half-expected to feel pain and taste copper.

Sarah kept one hand on the doorframe, a token effort at resistance. "Damn you, Charley," she cursed before releasing the doorframe. One hand on his neck and the other in his shirt, Sarah pulled him inside.

Sarah's hands were already drifting lower by the time Charley shut the door behind him, and he decided that he'd been right in the kitchen earlier. The woman was definitely trying to give him a heart attack.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **What up, reader people? This might've been posted yesterday, if not for a certain someone sucking me into the most twisted Charley conversation I've ever engaged in. Thank you for that, person who shall remain nameless, I look forward to seeing all the ridiculousness of that exchange turned into a ridiculous and awesome fic, sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I guess the readers will have to make do with this. Like or loathe, please drop some feedback on your way out, and I'll catch you all later.

* * *

><p>For the second time in as many weeks, Sarah and Charley woke in the same bed. There was no confusion this time, no thoughts of being different people in a different time. They knew exactly who they were, and they knew exactly what had passed between them since that last morning in Nebraska.<p>

Charley awoke a few minutes before Sarah. When the brunette's eyes finally opened, she found Charley propped on one elbow, studying her."Hey," she murmured, voice cloudy with sleep.

"Morning."

"What time is it?"

"Early."

"So why are you awake?"

Charley smiled crookedly. "You still kick in your sleep. I think you owe me an ice pack for my knee."

"Liar," Sarah accused, running light fingers over his jaw. "If you're looking for breakfast in bed…"

"Good plan," Charley replied, catching her fingers and bringing them to his lips. "We'll get Savannah to bring up some Cheerios."

"How gourmet. And when Savannah asks what you're doing in my room?"

"I lost my clothes. I came in here looking for them; I'm terrible at hide and seek. I fell asleep before I could find them."

Sarah kissed him softly, languidly. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"You didn't seem to mind," he replied, tracing the contours of her face with gentle fingers.

Sighing, Sarah laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady pound of his heart. "I used to watch John sleep. He hated it."

"I know," Charley murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I'd demonstrate why, but I'm pretty sure that if I sat at the edge of your bed and stared until you woke up, you'd end up shooting me."

"Probably," Sarah conceded, drawing lazy patterns along his chest.

They were silent after that, content for a time to simply be in the moment. Soon enough though, Sarah's traitorous thoughts got the best of her. The motel, she could've put that down to stress and raging emotions after Kaliba's attack, finding out that she wasn't dying. One moment of weakness was bad enough, but two...

"I meant what I said, Charley. I can't take another Reese."

Actually, she couldn't take another loss at all. Her son, his father. Hell, she even missed Derek and the metal. Sort of. If John or his uncle or the metal had been there, she certainly wouldn't be lying here with Charley. Her life had turned upside down, just as Charley's had after she left. If not for all the upheaval, Sarah would've continued to lock him in her past and make a go at keeping him there. But there wasn't anyone else, and she did stupid things around Charley, let the walls weaken. The cancer had been hanging over her too long, and it was still there, the possibility of a slow death from an everyday disease. Sarah hated the idea of dying in front of her son, but John wasn't here, and she also hated the idea of dying alone.

Sarah tensed in his arms, just slightly. Charley sighed at her words, wondering how much he himself could take. He too had meant what he'd said last night. He didn't want the anger anymore. Whether the world ended or not, he didn't want to waste any more time on bitterness. Especially if Sarah… Charley put that thought out of his mind. He wouldn't accept it. Cancer was too cruel, too common, after what she'd survived. Still, the possibility was there, even if he wanted to deny it. Charley didn't know if he could watch Sarah die. Not after she'd died already, and not after Michelle. And even though he didn't want to, Charley still felt pangs of anger and resentment at the thought of what happened to his wife. Much of that anger was directed at himself, because the passage of time made it easier to admit that Charley hadn't loved his wife enough. She'd deserved better, and he hadn't had it to give. Sarah Connor had taken most of what he had, even before Cromartie took his wife.

"What do you want, Sarah?" he asked. "You tell me to stay away, and then you want me to be here. I can't do both."

Sarah closed her eyes as Charley stroked her hair. Unconsciously, she tightened her arms around him. "I want you here," she admitted quietly. "I've always…"

It was selfish and stupid to ask this of him now. It was selfish and stupid to fall in love with him in the first place. Sarah knew these things, but that didn't change the fact that she _had _fallen in love and, best efforts aside, she'd never come close to falling out of it.

Watching the play of emotions on Charley's face, Sarah was reminded of an early conversation with the Tin Miss. Humans, she'd explained. Stupid, illogical, inefficient. Being with Charley again would be all of those things and more. The thing of it was, Sarah was dangerously close to throwing up her hands and not caring. Love was a bitch that way. Shifting until she was gazing down on Charley, Sarah asked the all-important question, unsure of the answer she'd get, or even the one she wanted. "What do _you _want, Charley?"

Charley took a moment to consider, giving the best answer he could. There were so many reasons not to do this. But reason wasn't the only force at play, and apparently it wasn't the strongest one either. Sitting up more fully, he cupped Sarah's face in his hands. "I want a chance. That's all I want from you, and that's all I can promise."

Sarah closed her eyes. They'd never truly _had _a chance. Charley said it himself when she first explained everything. She kissed him again, with tender thoroughness. His hands roaming up and down her torso made it hard to pull away, but she managed.

"Savannah will be up," she said, glancing at the clock. "She can't see you here."

"I was joking about having her serve breakfast," Charley said, a smile on his lips. Savannah couldn't know, not when things were so shaky between them.

Sarah gave herself a few more moments, kissing his shoulder and mapping his torso. He was stronger now. He'd never been weak, but her defense lessons and forced workouts had added more definition to his body. Still not a soldier's physique, but Sarah didn't want another soldier. "Get dressed," she told him. "And then get in the shower. Be quick about it, unless you want cold pancakes." Charley smirked at her, and Sarah frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. Sometimes the bossiness is cute."

"Cute?" Sarah repeated, eyes narrowed.

Leaning in, Charley kissed a slow trail up her neck, stopping at her ear. "Cute," he murmured, nibbling on the lobe. "Usually though, it's just sexy as hell."

"Nice save," she praised, nails scraping fitfully along his chest. "Go. Breakfast."

"We've got time," Charley argued.

Sarah gasped lightly. Charley was mirroring her. His hands were on her chest, and her body was responding. "Not much."

"Enough."

By the time they reached the kitchen, Ellison was already there, serving Savannah a plate of food. He and Sarah had different philosophies on how eggs should be prepared, but this time Sarah didn't complain, even though she hated scrambled.

* * *

><p>James pretended not to notice the changes. The increased number of secret glances, the way Charley would occasionally rest his hand on Sarah's back, the way touches would linger when one passed the other a plate or a cup of coffee. He told Savannah to pretend as well, and the girl obeyed, with reluctance. She talked at every opportunity about how Aunt Sarah and Uncle Charley looked more and more like her parents had, in the videos. Back when they were alive and in love.<p>

Things were, predictably, imperfect between Sarah and Charley. They shared a bed often enough, but Charley was always gone before Savannah started bustling around too much. Most of the time it was Sarah who silently reminded him that it was time to leave. Sometimes Charley climbed out of bed and gathered his clothes, returning to his room before she could muster the guts to request that he stay. There were nights when Sarah left her door closed, and mornings when she came to the table with a bad attitude and circles under her eyes. She noted that Charley had developed a sort of tick, one that was especially prominent during the mornings after they'd slept together. He got in the habit of studying his wedding ring, fiddling with it incessantly.

Still, awkward and tentative as it sometimes got, they kept trying. Sarah left her door cracked open much of the time, and Charley usually took the invitation. On the nights her door was closed, he heard snippets of her voice, low and troubled. The recorder was always on the dresser or the nightstand, but he never asked. Sarah appreciated that, appreciated the laugh he gave when she assured him that she wasn't conversing with herself.

This had been going on for the better part of a month when Charley happened to walk past Sarah's room again. It was relatively early, and the door was wide open, revealing Sarah and Savannah propped up in bed together, a book resting between them. Sarah had an arm around the child, and Savannah was leaning against her. On the kid's other side sat Thomas, the crappy stuffed turtle Charley purchased on their first night away from the lighthouse. Savannah had amassed a decent collection of newer and nicer stuffed animals, but Thomas was the favorite. He had a place of honor on Savannah's bed. She'd sleep without him, Sarah made sure the girl didn't get too attached to things that could easily get left behind, but usually the toy was tucked under her chin every night.

Charley watched from the doorframe as Sarah read about Dorothy's adventures in the land of Oz. The bedtime stories were almost a constant. Unless Sarah was having an exceptionally bad or busy night, she and Savannah would read before the girl slept.

Charley wasn't usually part of the bedtime ritual. One of the adults was almost always doing research on the list from the garage, on Zeira Corp, Danny Dyson, on anything that even vaguely resembled a lead. And it was Charley who usually manned the computer this time of night. He'd been fighting a headache caused by too much dead end information when Ellison offered to take over.

Now Charley observed Sarah and the girl, and he smiled. They were switching off, Savannah reading a few paragraphs, Sarah taking over again. The girl was doing well with her homeschooling, and she was reading better than she should be at this age. If she stumbled over a word, Sarah waited for her to puzzle it out. If that didn't work, Sarah showed her how to pronounce it. Charley surmised that this book was a fixture, since the redhead seemed to know it well. She'd accuse Sarah of skipping a word or a line, and Sarah would apologize and praise Savannah for being so observant. She was doing it on purpose, Charley realized, flubbing bits of prose to see how well Savannah was paying attention. It bothered him that even a bedtime tale had to be turned into a training exercise, but his irritation was minimal. It warmed him, seeing Sarah interact with the girl. He'd seen her as a mother, but only to a teenage boy. Watching her with Savannah offered a glimpse into the past, or maybe into a life that could have been.

It was several minutes before Sarah noticed Charley's arrival. Part of her was angry that she hadn't noticed before. Not noticing could have dire consequences. Her self-recriminations ended the moment she saw his eyes, registered the simple joy in his smile.

Savannah looked up when Sarah trailed off midsentence, smiling when she saw Charley at the door. "Uncle Charley!"

"That's my name. You having fun in here?"

Savannah nodded enthusiastically. "Aunt Sarah said we could read in her bed tonight," the girl explained, giving a tiny bounce of excitement. "I like this bed, it's huge."

"Or maybe you're just small," Charley teased. Off the girl's wounded look, "It's okay; I like Aunt Sarah's bed too."

Sarah gave him a look and got a wink in return. "I like it too," she said, addressing Savannah while looking at Charley. "All this space, just for me."

The last few days had been good, so Charley felt safe enough to carry on the playfulness. "What, you don't get lonely in here by yourself?"

"Not at all. Can't wait to sleep tonight and have this whole bed all to myself."

Charley would've fired off a suitable response if he hadn't noticed the change in Savannah's expression. "Hey," he said, frowning as he walked to the bed. "What's the matter?"

Savannah looked at him, looked at Sarah, and looked down.

"Savannah?" Sarah prodded, seeing for herself the troubled look in the kid's eyes.

Savannah met the brunette's gaze with a nervous expression. "I…I saw you crying this morning on my way to breakfast. You must've been sad then?"

Charley's eyes flew to those of his ex-fiancé. She'd seemed fine when he left, she'd seemed fine when they met again in the kitchen. But, for the most part, she'd seemed fine in Nebraska. He'd been ready to marry her, and he'd had no idea how deep her pain ran.

Sarah looked away from him. She didn't want to tell the truth, but Charley couldn't think it was his fault. She was the one who'd insisted that he leave early, at least after that first day and those subtle looks from Ellison. She couldn't have Charley blaming himself, and a lie would've rang too hollow right now. She'd done her best to hide her pain from John when he was younger. She didn't regret that exactly, but she questioned the extent to which she'd done it. If she'd been honest and just told John that she missed his father, maybe he would've talked to her more, after that girl from school killed herself, after Sarkissian, after everything went to hell.

"You're right," she said, trying to maintain a normal tone. "I was sad. I…I missed my son. A lot."

Savannah nodded solemnly. She remembered that night months ago, when she'd cried over her mother in Aunt Sarah's arms, and the brunette apologized. She said she'd been unfair because she missed John, and that was the last Savannah had heard from her about the boy from Doctor Sherman's office. Uncle Charley spoke of John occasionally, but warned Savannah against bringing up that subject with the brunette.

"It's okay that you still miss him," Savannah offered, thinking it all right because she hadn't been the one to talk about John first. "I still miss my old mommy sometimes."

Sighing, Charley locked eyes with Sarah, asking a silent question. At her nod, he climbed onto the bed, taking the space on Savannah's other side and handing her the stuffed animal.

After the briefest of hesitations, Savannah held out the turtle to Sarah. "You should keep him. He makes me feel better when I get sad about my mommy."

"That's sweet of you," Sarah replied, a wave of tenderness threatening to overwhelm her. "But Thomas is your friend, and I think he wants to stay with you."

Savannah looked at the turtle, looked back at Sarah. "He wants to stay with me," she agreed. "But he wants to be in here tonight. Like a sleepover. You can bring him back in the morning."

Smiling at Charley over Savannah's head, Sarah passed the book over to him, pulling Savannah into a quick hug. "You sure that's what he wants?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry, he doesn't snore."

Charley snorted back a laugh as Sarah carefully set the toy aside. Once Savannah was resettled between them, "So. Where'd you leave off?" he asked, pointing at the open book.

Savannah told him, and Sarah fought off an irrational pang of jealousy as he started to read. The stories were her thing, hers and Savannah's. The petty anger fell away pretty much as soon as Charley opened his mouth. He read in an exaggerated manner that had Sarah biting her lip to keep from laughing. He acted out the characters, made faces and wild hand gestures, and when it was time for Savannah to move to her own room, the girl was clinging to Sarah, nearly hysterical with laughter.

"No," Sarah refuted when Savannah begged for more pages. Truthfully, she would've loved to watch Charley ham it up some more, even though her lip and the inside of her cheek were close to bloody. "You're going to bed," she said, despite her strong desire for further entertainment.

"I'll take her."

For a split second, Sarah hesitated. Sometimes Charley was too chivalrous. Then she remembered who she was talking to. He wasn't offering because he believed her incapable of lifting a six-year-old girl, he was offering because he was a good guy who loved Savannah immensely. So, with a hug and a promise to return her friend first thing in the morning, she let Charley take Savannah in his arms.

The girl was excited from all the laughing, and Charley seemed to be feeding off that, because he playfully threw her over his shoulder in a firemen's carry. Sarah said something about how the kid would be up until midnight if he kept this up, and Charley repositioned her against his chest, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

Sarah watched the moment of tenderness, the easy grace with which he held Savannah, the way the girl tucked her head against his shoulder and held loosely onto his neck, utterly trusting and secure. Sarah looked down as he turned away and headed down the hall. He would've been an amazing father. He'd proposed to her knowing that complications from John's birth made children impossible. She found it hard to believe that Charley and his wife wouldn't have had kids eventually. Now that was an impossibility too. Without thinking about it, Sarah took hold of Savannah's turtle, absently running her thumb over the toy.

"I'm jealous," Charley announced, closing the door as he reentered the room.

"Really."

Charley nodded as he stepped forward. Sarah was still in her day clothes and, as usual, those consisted of a lovely pair of skin-tight jeans. "Insanely jealous."

Sarah lobbed Thomas the turtle at Charley's head. "Can't have that. Hope you two have fun together tonight."

"Watch it," Charley said, catching the toy and setting it on her dresser. "Savannah will go nuts if Thomas gets hurt during your sleepover."

"She will. Any damage will be your fault, you and your jealous rage."

"Come on," he coaxed, recognizing payback when he saw it.

"You're not getting near this bed."

"Even after my award-worthy acting job?" Charley asked. His performance with the book had been as much about cheering Sarah up as it was Savannah.

Sarah tried keeping up the front, but the effort proved too great. "Fine," she said, gesturing magnanimously at the surrounding bed space. "But if you try that over the shoulder Tarzan thing on me, I'll rip your arm out of its socket."

She really had a knack for pillow talk. Crossing back to the bed, Charley joined her there, letting himself be pulled down for a kiss.

All the flirting aside, they didn't really go anywhere this time. Sometimes that happened, sometimes Charley came in here and it was enough for both of them to just lay together. Sometimes it was_ too much _for one or both of them. It was way more than just sex, which was why it remained so damn complicated.

They were tangled together, fully clothed on top of the comforter, when Charley spoke. "You can talk to me you know. If you need to"

Sarah sighed. She was sitting up against Charley, resting in his arms. It was good, and she might've dozed for awhile under other circumstances, but she'd been waiting for this. She said nothing, running mindless patterns along his forearm.

Charley sighed into her hair, a deep sound that ran through his entire body. It bothered him in Nebraska, when he'd catch glimpses of the pain she was hiding. She hadn't talked then either, she'd just left.

Sarah felt his compassion, his hurt, his disappointment as surely as she'd felt and heard that exhalation. "You want me to fall apart."

"Yeah, that's always been my life's goal, you falling apart."

She ignored the attempt at levity. He thought it was a trust thing, she knew that. So much had been made of her lack of trust. Charley didn't get it. She'd trusted him as much as she could. She trusted him as much as she could now. Even though he left the bed without her asking sometimes, without saying much of a goodbye. Even though his door stayed closed some nights, while hers was cracked open. She assumed that those were the nights he was thinking of Michelle.

"Talking wouldn't help," she told him.

"You ever tried?"

Sarah closed her eyes. At one point, she'd yearned for a receptive ear, so desperately that she'd returned to the office of that dead shrink. The situation had changed drastically. With everything else, with John gone, if Sarah allowed herself to feel the impact of the last sixteen years, she'd end up in another straitjacket. "I can't explain it to you. You wouldn't understand."

"No," Charley agreed, because whatever hell she'd experienced before and after John left, he hadn't lived it, so he probably _wouldn't _understand properly. "But you can still explain it to me." He was sick of the same old lines about complications and not understanding. Sometimes Sarah reminded him very much of a broken record.

"And we're back to you wanting me to fall apart."

Charley wanted to tell her that falling apart wasn't a permanent thing. He wanted to tell her that he'd pick her up if need be, hold her steady until she could pull together again. It was a corny sentiment, cliché, and she wouldn't have believed him anyway, so he didn't say anything.

Charley wasn't talking, but Sarah knew what he was saying, knew it from the feel of his body, the way he was holding himself, the way he kept holding her. He still thought it was a trust thing and _maybe_, Sarah conceded, maybe it was. But it was less about trusting him than it was about trusting herself not to collapse into uselessness the minute she allowed herself to do so. Sarah had no way of expressing that to him, so she gave up trying, doing her best to ignore how tense Charley had suddenly become.

* * *

><p>Not too long after that conversation, Sarah burst in on him in the bathroom. He was shaving, and the door was closed, and she came in with all the subtlety of a swarm of terminators. Charley nicked himself and winced, and before he could do anything else, Sarah was speaking.<p>

"I did talk. To John. I was pregnant and there was no one else, and I figured he didn't have a choice either way." Sarah held a cassette up to the mirror so Charley would see it. Then she set it on the lid of the toilet. "I'm talked out. You want to listen, go ahead, but don't ask me for anything more."

She was gone before the drop of blood could finish its journey down Charley's chin.

Charley listened, later that night. He would've done it sooner, but Savannah and a promising new AI firm kept him busy. Eventually though, he made it to his room, and he examined the tape and its label. It was marked as the first in a series. The writing was small, but Charley could squint and find out that the tape originated in 1984. Sarah had been in his room sometime that day, left him something to play the tape on. Charley was leaning on his nightstand when he first started listening. As soon as he heard her voice, he needed to sit down.

It was Sarah, but it wasn't. She sounded younger and softer than he ever could've imagined. The strength and resolve was still there, but there was also a kind of hesitant uncertainty that he wasn't used to. That she'd show him this now, it floored him beyond belief. He listened to her talk, heart clenching, until he ran out of tape.

Charley wasn't sure how long he sat with that cassette in his hands before he got the strength to cross the hall. Sarah was on her bed, a stack of computer research in her lap. She looked up as he entered, speaking before Charley had the chance.

"I'm not talking anymore. You understand?"

Charley nodded, setting the tape on her dresser, next to that recorder which finally made sense. There was another tape sitting there. He looked at it, looked at her. Sarah shrugged, looked away and made an outwardly dismissive hand gesture. Charley took the second tape and waited, and when she didn't do or say anything else, he started to walk away.

Sarah called for him to stop. He did, then he turned around. Sarah abandoned the printouts long enough to walk over and graze his chin with her lips, a silent apology for causing the cut there.

There were a lot of tapes. By the time he returned the fourth one, Charley was able to ignore Sarah's warning look and thank her for what she was doing. She played it off like nothing, saying that he would've needed to hear the tapes eventually. It was true, there was information there, small details Reese had given her that she'd forgotten or neglected to pass on to Charley. But there was so much more than details about the machines, things that Charley didn't have to know. She talked about Kyle. There was no distance from his death, no time for the wound to scar over as it eventually had. The longing and sadness in her voice was raw, though she tried hiding it. She'd loved him more than Charley had ever imagined, and he'd left her alone. And then she'd loved Charley, even after what Kyle's death did to her.

He kept returning to switch out the tapes. Sometimes he'd cross back to his own room, sometimes Sarah let him stay with her for the night. They didn't talk about what was on the tapes, except for one time. They were in bed together, and her eyes locked on the last cassette he'd returned.

"I was so fucking weak," she proclaimed, voice an equal mixture of amazement and disgust.

"No. Never weak. Never that, Sarah."

He'd seen her be a lot of things, and now she was letting him see her be more human. He'd never seen her weak, couldn't even fathom it. Sarah disagreed, lamented how green she'd been back then, her naiveté. They argued briefly about this, but Sarah still allowed Charley to make love to her after they'd finished.

He witnessed her transformation as the tapes went on. Her voice became harder, as she must've done. She talked differently as John grew older, as the dates on the tapes became more recent. Reese's name was mentioned less, and the pain of his death wasn't so obvious, but he remained a fixture of the one-sided conversations. At one point, she talked about Travis Gant, advising John that if they were ever separated, he should go to the ranch. Travis would take care of him until she could get there. Charley recalled the conversation in the car, how she'd tried to downplay Gant's relationship with John. He didn't know if she'd done this in an attempt to spare his feelings, or if she'd honestly forgotten how much her ex apparently cared for her son.

Eventually, Charley heard a woman he was more familiar with. Not the person she'd been in Mexico, when the tapes first started, not the person she'd turned into just before the state of California forced her into their care. The dates got more and more recent, starting after they'd visited Gant's ranch. Finally, Charley reached the last tape.

He walked into the kitchen with tired eyes and a day's worth of stubble. Sarah was manning the stove, and the smell of pancakes pervaded the room. For a moment, all Charley could do was look at her.

"Morning."

Charley didn't reply. She'd never say it, but he knew how much it had cost her, showing him those tapes.

"You didn't come to bed last night," she said, trying to sound casual.

"I didn't sleep much." He'd finished the tape last night; he could've returned it then. He hadn't, and his response to Sarah was something of a lie. There'd been no sleep, none at all.

Sarah closed her eyes to the intensity of his gaze. "I told you, we're not talking about it."

"I didn't say anything." It was all visible on his face. Charley knew that it had to be, but was unable to control his expression.

Sarah turned away from him, focusing on the pancakes because she couldn't take the scrutiny, "Ellison bought the wrong brand," she said, gesturing vaguely at the coffeemaker. "Doesn't taste great, but it should be drinkable."

There were three cups sitting on the table. Charley took one and brought it to his lips and quickly put it down again After a moment, he crossed to the stove, took the spatula out of Sarah's hand, and laid it aside. Then he pressed his mouth against hers.

Caught off-guard, Sarah allowed him to guide her the few steps from stove to counter. She tried a protest, but Charley kept cutting her off. He'd break contact, let her breathe, then steal the air away again. They shouldn't be doing this, Savannah would come skipping in here any second. They were still pushing the 'just friends' line, and Sarah didn't want to give the girl false ideas about what did or didn't fall under the friendship boundary.

Despite her reservations, Sarah put one hand against the counter, balancing herself as Charley continued to invade her personal space, not to mention her mouth. After a few more seconds, she mentally threw up her hands, giving in to his ministrations. She hadn't trusted him enough last time, and she was trying to avoid past mistakes. Charley, it seemed, understood that.

"Your pancakes are burning.

Sarah broke away from the kiss to find Ellison leaning against the table, sipping a cup of coffee. He didn't look at all surprised to find her pinned between the counter and Charley. "I'm trying a new recipe. You bought the wrong coffee."

"I apologized. Repeatedly. How's everyone doing this morning?"

"You're doing that thing you do, the one that irritates me."

"Breathing?"

"Yeah. That."

"I apologize. Would you like me to do Savannah's hair this morning?"

"That would be good. Make sure you get all the knots out."

"I'll be thorough. It might take awhile."

"Do a job, do it right."

"Of course. You might want to do something about the stove," James suggested, turning towards the hallway with a smirk on his lips.

* * *

><p>Several weeks later, Sarah was driving back from a long stakeout that'd come to nothing. The lead she thought she had on one of the names from the wall had been a dud, but Sarah wasn't as annoyed by that as she should've been. Charley had talked of making lasagna, and James hadn't done much to annoy her recently. She was toying with the idea of picking up some ice cream for later when her cell phone buzzed. Codes were exchanged, and Ellison's voice reached her ear before Sarah could speak.<p>

"Where are you?"

The uncharacteristically terse greeting set her on edge, sent visions of terminators and Kaliba dancing in her head. "What's wrong?"

"Sarah," he began.

The word was too slow, too gentle. "What's wrong?" she repeated. "Is Savannah all right?"

"She's fine."

"Ellison-"

"She's fine. Charley's not."


	14. Chapter 14

She'd have to bury him in a potter's field, like Kyle. His new name was a lie, and Sarah didn't want to put it on a headstone. She couldn't put him next to Michelle either.

Cutting off those traitorous musings, Sarah walked quickly towards the house. Savannah met her halfway. Kid looked sad and scared, and Sarah knew she should do something about that, but she couldn't. Ellison came out the door just as she reached it.

"Sarah," he began.

With a mute snarl of rage, Sarah took hold of his shirt, shoving him roughly into the door. She took small pleasure in the sound of his head smacking against the wood. "Don't talk to me," she ordered, still gripping his shirt.

Ellison didn't, but he did nod over her shoulder.

Glancing back, Sarah saw Savannah near one of the trucks. It was dark, and she couldn't see her face properly, but she didn't need to. Fuck. Forcing herself to breathe, Sarah backed off and let him go. "Sorry," she muttered, vaguely surprised to find that she meant it.

"It's okay," Ellison replied, awkwardly smoothing out his shirt and rubbing the back of his head with the other hand.

"You should be. Unless someone's dead, dying, or close to one of the two, you don't tell me they're not all right. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

Sarah nodded, attempting to rein in her emotions. Charley was fine, she had to remember that. He was so like Kyle in some ways, his kindness, his devotion. It was hard sometimes, to stop herself from obsessing over the possibility that one day he'd _end up_ like Kyle. Because of her.

"Sorry," she repeated.

"Again, me too. Sometimes I forget."

Even after all this, sometimes he forgot. His definition of 'all right' didn't always match with hers, but Sarah could see understanding in Ellison's eyes, so she chose not to push.

"I just, I thought you'd want to know."

Sarah said nothing. She was pissed as hell at him for calling and scaring her half to death, but she probably would've been more pissed if he _hadn't _called. "You're taking her to a movie?" Sarah asked.

Ellison nodded, grimacing in the dark. "Hannah Montana"

Sarah frowned. "I thought that was TV."

"It is, and now it's a movie."

Christ. The world really _was _going to hell, Skynet or no. "Sorry," she said, meaning it again.

Ellison shrugged, offering a tiny smile. "I'll make sure to get her the DVD. Wouldn't want you to miss out."

"Right." Following a short, awkward pause, Ellison moved past her, heading towards Savannah and the truck. "James." She spoke without looking at him, after his footsteps had stopped. "Thanks. For calling."

"You're welcome, Sarah."

Sarah heard the smile in his voice as he walked away. He'd scared the shit out of her, but she hadn't threatened to kill him for it. Maybe that was progress.

* * *

><p>Charley's room was dark when she got there. Light from the hallway showed him perched at the very edge of the bed, clutching at the comforter. Looking sideways, Sarah found a trio of empty bottles sitting on his dresser. If the brooding in darkness hadn't set her on edge, the alcohol did. Charley wasn't huge on drinking, and he rarely did it by himself. There'd been an uncle, Charley told her. Treated his wife bad while sober, worse while drunk. Sarah wondered how much impact that uncle had had, if he was the reason Charley became such an uncommonly good man.<p>

"Shut the door, I've got a headache."

Sarah shut the door, struggling to adjust in the darkness. Bad enough she had no idea what was wrong or how to help, now she couldn't even see him properly. She approached him carefully, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt. "James called."

"I told him not to."

"He was worried, he ignored you." Standing in front of him in the blackness, Sarah reached down until she found his left forearm. She ran gentle fingers downward, until they found knuckles that were swollen to the touch. Charley had picked up her habit of abusing punching bags. That's what he'd been doing when Savannah walked in and saw his hands splitting open as they hit against the leather. "I'm worried too," Sarah admitted.

Charley pulled his arm away. "You don't need to be."

The gesture wasn't angry, neither were the words. Sarah still had to tamp down on hurt feelings. Hurt feelings and fear. Solid, dependable Charley wasn't supposed to fall apart on her, that just wasn't how it worked. Charley was always the one to make _her _feel better, and Sarah found she didn't much care for the role reversal. Comfort and reassurance was Charley's department, he did it with an ease that made Sarah envious. Watching him now, all Sarah felt was concern mixed with inadequacy.

Uncertain, Sarah rubbed the pads of her thumbs along Charley's forehead, remembering his earlier complaint. Gently pressing her fingers into his skin, Sarah worked to alleviate the physical pain, if nothing else.

"C'mere," Charley murmured, using one hand to pull her closer.

Sarah raised her eyebrows, even as a shot of arousal coursed through her. She'd put the slurring down to alcohol, except she'd seen him drunk a time or two, and this wasn't it. She was close enough to smell his breath, and it was clean. The beers must've been sitting there for awhile.

Charley held her loosely, one-armed, rubbing soft circles over her spine. Trying not to shudder at the contact, Sarah moved her hands down, over his shoulders and arms. His breathing was off, just a bit. For some reason, Sarah thought he should be crying right now, _would _be crying, in another life. Knowing her had toughened him in a way that Sarah wasn't necessarily happy about.

Suddenly, Charley was stroking her hips, free hand no longer clenched in the blanket. It was an intimate move, but not overtly sexual. Sarah closed her eyes anyway. They'd gone too long without each other, and there were lots of feelings between them, never mind that not all of them were good. Sometimes he was still angry with her, for Michelle. Sometimes she was angry with him for not going away, for making her do this again even though it scared her worse than a T-888. She'd been angry with Kyle to a certain extent, even before he died on her. Angry with him for being the messenger, for expecting her to be someone she couldn't imagine turning into. One thing she'd learned from Reese, a little anger mixed with a lot of everything else could lead to some pretty fabulous sex.

Charley's breathing was still off. The faintest of tremors ran down his spine. Sarah wouldn't have noticed it at all if she hadn't moved one hand onto his back. The other went to the back of his neck, kneading gently. "What's going on, Charley?" When he didn't respond, Sarah pulled back enough to tilt his face towards her. It was a pointless move in a room this dark, but it made Sarah feel like she was at least doing _something_. It wasn't enough though, and the not knowing was making her crazy, standing here with no idea what was happening. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to be here," he replied after the slightest of pauses. "I _need _you to be here."

"I am." His fingers had moved from her hips, and were busy touching the muscles of her abdomen. "I'm here."

"For now?"

For now, she said that a lot. In relation to their safety, her state of health, she said that about quite a few things. Sarah thought she knew what he was asking. Why he was doing it now, like this, she had no idea. "You asked for a chance. You don't want them anymore?"

There was a smile in his voice when he answered. A sad one. "It's never been want with you, Sarah. All this, you think I wanted this? It's not the life I would've chose for myself."

Closing her eyes, Sarah tried to pull away. "I tried telling you. I _did _tell you, so many times."

"Shhh," Charley murmured, tightening his grip on her waist. "I know you did, I'm not blaming you."

Sarah made a noise somewhere between sadness and disbelief. "You're always going to blame me, Charley." Some part of him wouldn't be able to help it.

"No," Charley argued. The hand on her stomach disappeared, going to her cheek instead. Instinct had Sarah leaning into his palm. Something about his touch felt different, but Charley's hand was gone before she had time to puzzle out the change.

"I'll always wish things were different," he said, back to stroking her hip. "I'll wish that none of this craziness was true, that it didn't have to be this way, but…"

"But?" Sarah prodded, nervous for reasons she couldn't truly explain.

"But I can't be angry anymore, and I can't blame you anymore."

Sarah didn't reply. He'd said things like that before, but this time felt different. A lot of things had felt different, since she let him hear the tapes.

"I told you I wanted a chance. It's not enough anymore. I need more than that."

She knew where he was heading with this. Part of her wanted to go there, _had _wanted it for a long time. And part of her was still scared shitless. Of what would happen if she let him in all the way, something she'd never managed to do before. "More than that. What makes you think I have more to give?"

"You were going to marry me."

Old defenses kicked in, without conscious thought. "I shouldn't have said yes."

"You did though. Why?"

It was rhetorical and Sarah knew that, and she took the bait anyway. "Because I loved you."

"Past tense?"

Again, rhetorical. "No."

"I love you too."

It wasn't a revelation, a huge, climactic moment like in the romance novels she'd read as a teenager. They'd both known this about each other, it simply hadn't been stated so baldly. Not for a long, long time. "You shouldn't," Sarah told him, needing to know that she'd at least gone down fighting. "Love me."

"You're right. You shouldn't have left."

"I know."

"I still love you."

"I know. I love you too."

"Enough to give me what I want?"

"Thought you said it wasn't about wanting."

"It's not. For the most part."

"Fine. What do you want? Or need?"

"You."

Sarah's breath caught. This wasn't the first time she'd heard something like that. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd heard it from Charley. He was touching her thighs with both hands and there was desire in his voice, but there was also a lot more. He was asking her for a lot more.

"I'm here" she said, repeating an earlier line as she leaned down to kiss him. "I'm here," she repeated, breaking the contact so she could speak near his ear.

"For now?" he asked, repeating his own line even as his hands began moving again.

She couldn't make any promises, not with Skynet and Judgment Day and the possibility of cancer. Charley wasn't asking for false assurances. "Always," she said, kissing whatever part of his face she could reach. "If I can help it at all, always."

Sarah hated having to add the caveat, but things were what they were, and Charley seemed to accept that. He busied himself with tossing aside her favorite leather jacket as quickly as possible. Kissing him deeply, Sarah pulled until Charley was standing with her. She'd started to hate those flannel overshirts he was so fond of. One extra clothing item. Still, he put up with the hassles of removing combat boots, so Sarah didn't complain. Compromise and all that.

They worked at undressing each other, separating as little as possible. When Charley was bare from the waist up, Sarah paused her task long enough to touch him through his jeans. He groaned into her neck, mouth working over the pulse point there. She did it a few more times, and he invoked the name of a deity that Sarah didn't exactly believe in. She didn't think that Charley did either, but he still said the name. Then he switched to saying her name instead, and Sarah touched him again. Suddenly Charley was reaching out to still her hand, while his own drifted lower. Sarah jerked, releasing a gasp. Her jeans were still in place, but they were also skin-tight.

Not soon enough, all clothes were gone and they'd made it to the bed. Charley was back to stroking her thighs, paying special attention to the scar made when she got her leg sliced open in the morgue. Sarah let him do this, even though the scars, that one in particular, made her uneasy. His hands were replaced by his mouth, and Sarah's agitation faded, as it usually did. She was being unusually passive because for some reason Charley seemed to want that tonight. She didn't like passive. The other men had liked passive, the ones that came after Reese. But this was Charley, and she trusted him, so she let him do what he wanted. It also helped that what he wanted to do felt pretty damn amazing.

Too soon, and not soon enough, she was falling apart and desperate for stability, and Charley was too far away. Eyes shut tight against the pleasure, Sarah reached blindly, roughly pulling him up. "C'mere."

He did, and he kissed her again, waiting her out and swallowing her cries. He had his hands on her face and Sarah leaned in to kiss his palm when suddenly it all made sense. She knew why his touch felt different, she knew why this was happening now, tonight. Her hand flew up to cover his, snaking over his fingers and confirming what she already knew.

"Charley…"

"It's okay," he promised, voice ragged.

"Charley-"

He pressed closer, resting his forehead against hers. "Did you mean what you said, all of it?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's okay," he repeated.

Sarah might've protested if Charley hadn't chosen that moment to slide into her, effectively cutting off any further conversation or argument.

* * *

><p>Sarah woke to an empty bed and a cup of coffee on her nightstand. The clock said she'd slept longer than she should have, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. The world was still here and the coffee was strong, and there wasn't much more to ask for in her life.<p>

Sarah cleaned up and dressed and found Charley in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. "Trying to score points?" she asked, holding up the cup he'd left her.

"Always. Quickest way to your heart, through your caffeine addiction."

If there were no guns or explosives to offer, caffeine probably _was _the safest bet. Joining him at the stove, Sarah set the coffee next to her on the counter. "That doesn't smell like breakfast food."

"It doesn't, we're out. Even the pancake mix is gone."

Sarah frowned. "We're _never _out of pancake mix."

Charley shrugged. "Sign of the apocalypse?"

"The points for the coffee? I've taken them away now."

"Damn," Charley teased, kissing her quickly on the lips.

Reaching for his free hand, Sarah took it in her own, carefully examining. There were bruises where he'd laid into the punching bag with too much force and not enough protection. "You seen Savannah?"

Charley sighed. He'd scared the girl and he felt horribly about that. "I talked to her. She's okay."

Nodding, Sarah brushed her thumb across his ring finger, noting the pale circle of skin where the gold used to be. "If you're doing this for me…"

Abandoning his cooking, Charley turned to face her properly. Then he took her hand away from his ring finger, bringing it to his lips instead. "I'm not."

"You sure?" Sarah asked, taking her hand back when Charley showed no sign of relinquishing.

Charley sighed, forcing himself not to back down from the intensity of her gaze. "She's gone, Sarah. Michelle's gone, and I can't…"

Charley trailed off. He still had the ring, hopefully he'd have it forever. It definitely had a place in the one bag Sarah would allow him if they were forced to move quickly. He had the ring, and he had memories of Michelle, and he'd always miss her. But last night he'd come as close as he ever would to purging his system, saying goodbye to her. Michelle was a ghost. This life he led was crazy enough without adding in hauntings. If James was right, if there was something after this, maybe Michelle was watching him now, watching and hating him. It was a possibility, a painful one, but there were lots of possibilities and few certainties. All Charley could be certain of now was that he was still here, and Michelle wasn't. Now, after all this time, Sarah was. He shouldn't love her, but he had no control over that. And he couldn't love her like he needed to with Michelle hanging between them. Truthfully, he never should've had that ring to begin with. He'd loved his wife, but he hadn't belonged to her.

"I'm yours, Sarah. That's…that's how it's always been."

She knew that, she'd always known that. For his sake, she wished it wasn't true. Selfishly though, Sarah couldn't have been happier. "Are you? For how long?"

Charley shrugged and smiled. "Long after the world ends?"

"Stop joking about that."

"You do it."

"Yes. I do it _well_."

Smirking, Charley turned back to the stove, bringing a wooden spoon to his lips. "Taste this, it's missing something."

"And you expect _me _to know what that is?" There was sauce on his lips, and he didn't seem to realize it.

"Wild guess," Charley replied, holding out the spoon.

He'd surprised her with that kiss in here. Sarah could look past her wariness of them if the surprise in question was up to par, but she absolutely hated being outdone. So, Sarah took the spoon away and pressed her lips to his, leaving them there long after she'd gotten rid of all the sauce. She kissed him with a determined thoroughness, waiting for him to slip his arms around her waist before pulling away.

"Garlic."

"What?"

Smirking at the dazed look Charley wore, Sarah kissed him again, quick this time. "Needs more garlic."

"Right," Charley murmured before returning to activities that were much more pleasant than cooking.

"Your sauce is burning."

Sarah groaned inwardly when she heard Ellison's voice, breaking the kiss without turning around. "You do this intentionally."

"Yes. My entire existence centers on making yours difficult."

"At least you admit it now."

"Pardon me for thinking it safe to enter the kitchen," James replied as Charley turned back to the stove, still wearing a look of pleasant shock. "Maybe we should develop a system so that I know when I'm allowed to leave the bedroom that I don't have."

Turning around, Sarah was about to make the appropriate comeback when Savannah stepped out from behind Ellison's body, an enormous grin threatening to split her face in two.

"Can we stop pretending now?" she asked, crossing the kitchen with a bounce in her step.

"Pretending what?" Sarah asked, automatically, putting an arm around Savannah when the girl offered her a hug.

"That you and Uncle Charley aren't boyfriend and girlfriend."

Charley snorted back a laugh at the simplistic analysis of their relationship. "What would you know about that, huh?"

"I know," Savannah insisted. "I've had a boyfriend already."

"You what?' Sarah asked, voice sharp, eyes narrowed.

"A boy at school wanted me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, but then Mommy found out. She talked to him, and then he didn't want to be my boyfriend anymore."

Picturing the metal bitch terrorizing a small boy shouldn't have made Sarah as happy as it did. "Good call, Weaver," she said, talking under her breath.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Sarah asked.

Savannah crossed her arms, her expression a good imitation of how Sarah looked when she was annoyed. "Can we stop pretending?"

Charley glanced back, and Sarah caught his eyes before answering. "Yeah. We can stop pretending."

"Thank God," Ellison muttered, busying himself with a cup of coffee.

"Shut up," Sarah retorted, without sounding particularly irritated.

* * *

><p>Two days later, James entered the living room to find Sarah stuffing clothes into his duffel bag in a haphazard manner.<p>

"I thought you were going to stay away from my boxers," Ellison drawled, recalling a comment Sarah made when they first got here.

Sarah zipped the bag closed without looking up. "Your laundry was getting in the way of my laundry." Getting to her feet, Sarah threw Ellison's duffel at him with an unnecessary amount of force.

James caught it, eyebrows raised.

"I'm sick of tripping over that all the time," Sarah declared. "Get it out of here."

Sarah's tone wasn't matching up with her words, something that seemed to happen more and more often. "You have a destination in mind? Space around here is at a bit of a premium."

"Just get rid of the damn bag. Put it in Charley's room."

Smiling, James adjusted his hold on the duffel. "You've discussed this with Charley?"

"We talked about it last night, he doesn't have a problem."

"Well. If that's what you think is best."

"I do, and it is. You want to go away before you start to irritate me?"

"You mean it hasn't happened yet, after thirty seconds? I think that's a record."

"Maybe it is," Sarah agreed, a tiny smile curving her lips. "Don't get too ambitious, James."

* * *

><p>Six months wasn't terribly long, in the grand scheme of things. Still, six months could make a hell of a lot of difference. It'd been roughly that long since Sarah showed up at his door, Savannah and Ellison in tow. Charley had been lonely then, broken. Because of the woman in front of him. Three months after her arrival, they shared a bed in a cheap motel. For the last month, they'd been sharing a room. Things had a way of changing unexpectedly.<p>

It was a typical Wednesday night. The TV was muted while Savannah did homework on the computer, sneaking off to more entertaining sites when she thought she could get away with it. Ellison was on a grocery run, and Sarah was at the kitchen table, maintaining her firearms collection.

"Have you seen my Remmington?"

Charley paused on his way to the fridge. "It's on your side of the closet."

"Not anymore."

"I haven't seen it."

"I'm just asking."

"You aren't supposed to fight in front of me," Savannah declared.

Absently taking Charley's hand, Sarah turned in her chair. Dr. Phil had taught the kid some things about family dynamics. Bickering was bad, but apparently maintaining supplies used for terrorist activities hadn't been mentioned. "Do your math problems."

Red-faced at being caught, Savannah quickly closed the game she'd been playing.

"You think James moved it?"

Chuckling, Charley dropped a kiss in her hair, using his free hand to massage the back of her neck. "I think James would walk through fire before he walked into your bedroom without permission."

Sarah gave him a soft smile, pulling him down for a kiss. It had been _their _bedroom for weeks now, but one or the other sometimes forgot that. Squeezing his hand a final time, she left to check the gun trunk under their bed.

While Sarah was gone, Charley spent several minutes cleaning the guns she hadn't reached yet. He was picking up an assault rifle when the cell phone buzzed. It was Sarah's, and it was in front of him on the table. Halfway to answering, he glanced over and noticed that Savannah had clicked off of her homework. "Hey slacker, get to it over there."

"But Uncle Charley-"

"Savannah," he warned, leaving the kitchen with Sarah's phone in his hand. He answered the call and was rewarded with a tone sequence that didn't belong to James. At that moment, Ellison entered the house, laden-down with groceries.

Sarah returned from her bedroom a few seconds later, gun search having turned up nothing.

"Aunt Sarah, come here!"

Sarah's attention immediately snapped to the child. There was an urgency in her tone that couldn't be ignored.

"Charley…"

James had set down the groceries, and his eyes were glued to something over Charley's shoulder, but the other man ignored it, frowning into the phone. "Who is this?" he asked, an edge to his voice. Savannah had Sarah studying something on the computer monitor, but Charley couldn't see what, not with Sarah standing in front of the screen. "Who is this?" he repeated.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, "Charley Dixon?"

Charley's fingers nearly went slack. He hadn't heard that voice in a long time, but he knew what the scary robot sounded like.

"Charley Dixon," Cameron repeated, not a question this time. "Why do you have Sarah Connor's cell phone?"

Oh God. Charley tried calling Sarah over, but she wasn't listening. Or maybe his voice wasn't strong enough. Breathing had become a problem, never mind talking. Charley spared half a glance for the TV over his shoulder, the thing he now knew that'd captured Ellison's attention. The news had just started. The lead story involved crappy footage of a blue ball of electricity.

Hardly trusting his own legs, Charley moved over to the computer. Sarah was gripping Savannah's chair with both hands. Her fingers were shaking. Charley saw what Savannah had tried showing him before. The footage from the news had hit Youtube. It was apparently quite popular, judging by the number of views.

"Charley?"

John. Charley put a hand on Sarah's shoulder, mostly to keep himself from falling. "Hey," he greeted, barely recognizing his own voice. "Hey Johnny."

Sarah turned so fast that she almost knocked Charley over. She made a grab for the phone, but her hands wouldn't stay still. Charley covered her hand with his, pinning it to his chest. Her nails dug painfully into the flesh there.

"Charley," John said, clearly struggling with his own emotions. "Mom. Is she okay, is she there?"

Having regained some form of control, Sarah took her phone with the hand that wasn't shaking beneath Charley's. "John."

"Mom."

Sarah tightened her grip on Charley's shirt. She hadn't heard that title, hadn't heard her son's voice, for half a year. "Are you okay?"

"There was a pause. "I'm home, Mom."

"Cameron?"

The cyborg answered for herself. "We're back. Both of us."

"Weaver?" Sarah asked, trying not to choke on the tears she was swallowing. "John Henry?"

Another pause, this one longer. "We'll talk about it later. Mom…"

"I know. I know, John."

"Charley, he's there now? He's with you?"

For half a second, Sarah buried her head in the crook of Charley's neck, releasing a noiseless sob. She was indescribably grateful to feel his arm encircling her. "Yeah. Charley's with me."

Savannah had slipped out of the desk chair. Unnerved at seeing Aunt Sarah and Uncle Charley like this, she joined Ellison by the TV. "Uncle James?"

Ellison couldn't respond right away, still riveted by the crackling of blue light that continued to play on the screen.

"Uncle James," Savannah repeated, pulling at his arm.

Shaking himself mentally, Ellison dropped to one knee, enveloping the child in a hug. "It's okay."

"Why are Aunt Sarah and Uncle Charley so sad?"

"They're not. It's…it's going to be okay now."

"Really?" Savannah asked, arms tight around his neck.

"I think so," he replied, kissing the top of red hair. "I really do think so."

Savannah nodded, but she kept holding James, just as Sarah and Charley kept holding on to each other.

**Fin…?**

* * *

><p><em>And I've lost who I am<br>And I can't understand  
>Why my heart is so broken<br>Rejecting your love  
>Without love gone wrong<br>Lifeless words carry on  
>But I know, all I know<br>Is that the end's beginning_

_Who I am from the start_  
><em>Take me home to my heart<em>  
><em>Let me go and I will run<em>  
><em>I will not be silenced<em>  
><em>All this time spent in vain<em>  
><em>Wasted years, wasted gain<em>  
><em>All is lost, hope remains<em>  
><em>And this war's not over<em>

**-Trading Yesterday, Shattered**

_I'm here again  
>A thousand miles away from you<br>A broken mess, just scattered pieces of who I am  
>I tried so hard<br>Thought I could do this on my own  
>I've lost so much along the way<em>

_Then I see your face_  
><em>I know I'm finally yours<em>  
><em>I find everything I thought I lost before<em>  
><em>You call my name<em>  
><em>I come to you in pieces<em>  
><em>So you can make me whole<em>

**-Red, Pieces**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So if I did my job with any level of decency, you should be yelling at me right now. Usually, I let people know when the ride is coming to a close. I didn't do that this time, for two reasons. One, I don't control some of what happens in these things. I start warning people to find shelter, the end is near, six chapters later, the words are still flowing. The other reason I kept my mouth closed involves a certain someone who didn't need to be tipped off. On that note, I'd like to publicly declare victory, once and for all. You started this little update battle, but I won the war.

Speaking of, it's time to acknowledge some very awesome people. Wheresmyluce, who's been ridiculously kind in taking the time to review every chapter, and is just a generally awesome individual. CheekeyMonkey is also freaking awesome, even though I can never think of the word 'trolley' the same way again. Kudos, Twinkies, sprinkles, Oreos, and Smores to both of these people. If you haven't read their fics yet, go do it. Now.

I must say, I really like how this turned out. I gave myself roughly a month to do it (back to school next week, less time for writing), not expecting that I'd actually meet a self-imposed deadline for once. In a few weeks, I'll skim over this and see a thousand minor problems, but right now, as a whole, I'm really very fond of it. I always thought it was rather cruel to bring Charley back for a few more shining moments, just to kill him off. More than that, I think that Charley's character and his relationship with Sarah don't get nearly enough credit or exploration. Besides, one tragic love story is enough for Sarah Connor, the woman needs a break. I tried to be honest and careful that the issues between her and Charley were treated as realistically as possible. Whether I succeeded in that, I guess the review section will tell that tale. If you've reserved judgment until the end, judge now, let me know what you think.

So…who wants to talk sequels? Obviously there are still places to go and things to explore. This could've gone on, but I feel like it would've become a different story with a different feel. Anyone care to see that different story? There are scenes floating around in my head, and yeah, I think I want to write them. Does that sound like a plan to you? Let me know.

Finally, an explanation of the songs. I blame CheekeyMonkey. Sort of. All her damn song lyrics, and now I'm copying. Seriously though, the lyrics above and the tunes they're from really became anthems of this story. My Ipod was doing a lot of repeat duty. If you haven't checked out artWork009's Youtube vid to the 'Shattered' song, go do it. It's one of the best Sarah Connor character studies I've seen, and not just because I happen to adore the song. If you haven't checked out wheresmyluce's Youtube channel, do that too. And look at the trailer she made for her own fic, as well as CheekeyMonkey's. Again, you should be reading both of these stories.

All right, I'm done plugging, and I'm done rambling. If you've made it this far, I thank you kindly. There's a lot of great reading material, and it means the world that you guys chose to spend time on this. Catch you all on the other side of the time bubble.


End file.
